The Wrath of God Remains
by Xaydin
Summary: What seemed like a simple caravan trip into Utah turned into so much more for Penelope, the famed Courier Six of the independent New Vegas. In Zion, she discovers the secrets that wind through the canyons - and the Burned Man, who's nursing more than just physical wounds. Following the Honest Hearts storyline, set after the main quest. F!Courier & Joshua Graham.
1. Chapter 1

_Isaiah 6:8_

_And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"_

_Then I said, "Here am I! Send me."_

* * *

><p>The sunset over the Mojave made it look as though the desert was on fire, the sand dyed a burning orange by the fading light. A single man stood at the mouth of a cave in the north, his keen, crinkled eyes zeroing on every movement below him. A cigarette lay unattended between his thumb and forefinger.<p>

"Jed?" a voice called from inside the cave.

The man sighed and turned, running his free hand over his bald spot. "What is it, Stella?" he called.

A woman with her dark brown hair pulled back into a utilitarian bun poked her head out of the cave.

"We need to leave soon," she remarked, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her armor.

Jed nodded, pressing his lips together in stubborn disappointment. "Yes, I know. I was just hoping…"

"That someone else with a Pip-Boy would come by?" Stella finished, an understanding smile softening her sun-scarred face. She stepped forward to stand by Jed. "Ricky is a bit of an ass," she admitted.

Jed snorted. "That's an understatement."

Stella chuckled, crossing her arms. Her face suddenly settled into a frown. "I hope New Canaan is alright," she murmured. "Losing contact with them is a bit worrisome."

"I'm sure it's all fine," he replied, not truly believing his own words. His friend glanced at the sky.

"Do you think we should wait to leave until tomorrow morning? It's already pretty late."

Jed roused himself from his thoughts and shook his head. "Nah, we've already waited long enough. Having Ricky along should be fine." He pushed his hands into the pockets of his overalls, turning to enter the northern passage. "The lanterns should help us along for a couple of hours and I'd rather get more ground covered than wait another day."

Inside, Jed surveyed the company. The two caravan guards, Angela and Joseph, were cleaning their weapons. Joseph always cared for his hunting rifle like it was his baby. Leaning against the other wall of the cave, Ricky fiddled with his Pip-Boy, his wispy eyebrows knitted together.

"We're leaving soon," he announced. Everyone looked up at Jed as he started speaking. "We'll travel for a few hours past sunset – the lanterns will light our way."

"Can't we just wait until tomorrow?" Ricky grumbled in his whiny voice. Jed shook his head.

"We've already wasted enough time. So make sure you've got all your stuff together, and let's go."

"Wait, _wait_!"

Jed turned to see a figure sprint into the cave before coming to a halt.

It was a young woman, no older than twenty-five, dressed in doctor fatigues – he could see where she hadn't been able to get the bloodstains out of her dirty white tank top. Her honey blonde hair was swept up in a wide brimmed straw hat, almost hiding the freckles that splayed across her nose; they matched the ones that sprayed over her shoulders. The Pip-Boy on her wrist glowed amber, lighting up the ivory-handled pistol that hung on her hip. A sniper rifle was strapped to her back, the worn barrel gleaming in the fading sunlight.

She readjusted the duffel bag she had slung over one shoulder and looked at Jed with green eyes. "Sorry, I just heard you guys talking about leaving, and I just…" She stopped herself before speaking again. "Is this the Happy Trails Caravan Company?"

"Indeed it is. Reckon you heard my broadcast. You certainly look the type."

The young woman stuck out her hand. "Name's Penelope."

"Jed Masterson. You know the job?"

"Just that you're looking for people to help you run a caravan into Utah. Anywhere specific?"

"We're headed to Zion, to look for New Canaan." Jed folded his arms. "We're looking to reestablish a trade route with the New Canaanites after they dropped off the radar." Jed glanced at the sniper rifle on Penelope's back. "What kind of credentials you got?"

The young woman shrugged. "Other than being a decent shot? I've been a courier for the past three years, till recent. I was a doctor with the NCR for about four years before that. Learned everything from my dad back when we were living in the Boneyard." She gave Jed a toothy grin. "And I happen to be a damn good cook."

Jed nodded. "And you know about the weight limit? Less than seventy-five pounds?"

"Only got the essentials. Medicine, armor, ammo."

He nodded again before pausing. She looked like such a sweet girl. "You sure you want to do this, though? Utah's pretty dangerous. More tribals than you can shake a stick at."

The new girl looked amused at the warning. "I've dealt with worse. Tribals are no worry to me."

"Ever dealt with the 80's? Or the White Legs? These tribals ain't the kind you'll find in the Mojave." He waited for her to respond, but she didn't say anything and he shrugged. "Just wanted to let you know what you were getting into."

Penelope nodded before turning her head to study every face in the cave. "What's the pay?"

"Twenty-five caps a day, half up front, half when we get there. You'll get a bonus if we make it into Zion, another bonus when we reach New Canaan." He paused. "Oh, and – don't mention the name Joshua Graham to anyone."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who is Joshua Graham? And why am I not mentioning his name?"

Jed hesitated. "Just don't. It makes the New Canaanites powerful uncomfortable, and it scares the britches off the tribals. Don't talk about the Burned Man, either, while you're at it."

Penelope opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it almost immediately. Instead, she just nodded.

"Any other questions?" Jed asked.

"Do you mind if I talk to some people here before we head out? Just to get a feel for the company."

"Not at all. Go right on ahead."

The girl placed her duffel bag on the ground carefully before walking over to where Ricky was standing. Jed turned to Stella.

"Looks like you got your wish, Jed," his friend remarked, watching as Ricky leered at the freckled young woman, who had an amused expression on her face. "Another Pip-Boy."

"Aye, and she doesn't seem to be useless, either. It would be nice to have someone with medical background on the trip."

Stella nodded. "Shit happens on these trips."

"Don't I know it." Jed suddenly remembered his still burning cigarette and took a long drag on it. The resulting cloud drifted through the air, ghostlike. "Perhaps she could help with the pack Brahmin if it ever wears down."

"Perhaps." Stella suddenly fell silent as Ricky, storming away and clearly seething, cut off their conversation. He exited the cave with not a single word to Jed or Stella. The brunette raised her eyebrows before her gaze flicked back to Penelope. She still had the amused expression on her face as she meandered over to where Jed and Stella were standing.

"What was all that about?" Jed asked.

Penelope shrugged. "Kid was a pathological liar and a Psycho addict to boot. Not to mention he found that Pip-Boy on a prospector, as well as the jumpsuit, so he doesn't know a damn thing about it."

Jed snorted. "Well, looks like it was a good thing you came along after all." The young woman grinned at him, hefting her duffle bag over her shoulder.

"Well, looks like I'm ready to start this journey."

"Are you now? You know we ain't coming back this way for a good long while now, right? And you know about the weight limit?" Jed took another drag on his cigarette. "I don't want no whining about, 'Oh, Mr. Masterson, I left my one-of-a-kind plasma cannon back at base, can we go back for it?'" He gave her a look. "You sure you're ready now?"

Penelope nodded. "Yes, I'm sure," she replied, a little meekly.

A slow smile widened Jed's face. "Well, all right then. Let's get moving – we've got a long road ahead of us."


	2. Chapter 2

_Isaiah 43:19_

_… I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert._

* * *

><p>Penelope finished wrapping the gauze around Joseph's leg and sat back on her heels to examine the job, lit only by the campfire. "You'll walk with a limp for a little while. Just let the stitches heal – and don't go stepping in any more gecko nests, for god's sakes." She gave him a rueful smile while he looked at her gratefully, carefully going to his feet. "Come back tomorrow morning and I'll clean out the stitches some more and replace the gauze." He nodded and limped away.<p>

"Hey, Penny," a voice called, and Penelope looked over to Stella, who was holding two plates of some dinner substance. The older woman beckoned her over with a flick of her head and the courier obliged, sitting on the warm sand beside her. A tin plate filled with stewed gecko was slid into her lap. The blonde dipped her head obligingly as she lifted the spoon to her mouth.

"Did some good work on Joseph," the brunette observed. "Those geckos really tore into his leg."

"Yeah, they're nasty little fuckers," Penelope replied through a full mouth, reaching under her hat to itch at her scalp. They ate in silence for a little while until the older woman put down her spoon.

"What are you even doing out here, Penny? You don't seem the caravan type."

The courier's mouth quirked up into a crooked smile. "I could say the same about you."

"I mean it as 'What's your story?'"

Penelope shrugged before putting her spoon down with the clink of metal on metal. "I was born in the Boneyard. Dad was a Vault dweller, a doctor; Ma was the local brothel madam. Same old story, only difference was that my dad stayed around. He taught me everything he had learned from living in the vault – Ma wasn't great at letters, after all."

"And that's how you became a doctor?"

The blonde nodded. "Started working on Brahmin – births, diseases, so on – until one of the farmers fucked his leg to hell trying to restore some Pre-War farm equipment. I remember thinking I was going to vomit, what with all the blood."

Stella nodded, chewing with thoughtful patience. "How did you become a courier?"

"Well, I joined up with NCR for a bit – quickly found out that I didn't particularly agree with them. When my tour of duty was up, I didn't sign the contract. Decided to stay out in Nevada, friend got me a job with the Mojave Express, and hey presto. Courier."

Stella nodded at that, scooping the last spoonful of gecko stew into her mouth. The spoon clattered against the plate.

Penelope glanced at the brunette. "What about you? What the hell are you doing travelling with this caravan?"

"Earning my keep. Jed hired me on as a caravan guard for this expedition of his. The work suits me. I've tried staying put in one place, but it never works out." She examined her dirty fingernails before continuing. "Grew up in New Reno, and I couldn't put that snakepit behind me fast enough. Then I wound up wasting the prime of my life playing Sheriff in Caliente, little town north on the 93. Talk about a pain in the ass." Stella shrugged nonchalantly. "You ask me, best to keep moving. At least the scenery changes."

"What's New Reno like? Never been there," Penelope admitted.

Stella wrinkled her nose. "Imagine New Vegas if there was no Mr. House-type fella keeping the peace, then give everybody a gun and a Jet addiction."

The courier snorted with laughter. "Sounds like it was a great place to live."

Stella shook her head in resignation. "The scuzz factor's off the charts. Non-stop whoring and drugs. Couldn't walk down the street without getting asked to star in a porn movie. So I got my ass out of there while I still owned it." She leaned forward, propping up her head with her hands. "Guess I figured the answer to every problem was rule of law. Naive, huh?"

"I'd call it optimistic," Penelope replied. She reached down and pulled out a flask. Unscrewing it, she took a gulp of whatever was inside. Glancing at Stella, she held out the flask. "Whiskey?"

"Don't mind if I do." Stella took the proffered flask and drank, the alcohol sliding down her throat. She looked at the silver flask in her hand.

"You know," she said, "I don't know how much of the burn is from alcohol and how much is from radiation with this stuff."

Penelope chuckled and took the flask back to raise it to her mouth. Stella studied her for a little while, her brown eyes flicking over to her straw hat, pulled down over her forehead.

"What's up with the hat, Penny? Haven't seen you take it off this whole time."

"Eh? Oh." Penelope looked sheepish as she touched the brim. "Ah, hiding a scar."

"Can't be that bad," Stella remarked, and, before Penelope could respond, removed the hat from her head.

On the center of her forehead there was a shallow red dent, almost like a birthmark. Penelope made to cover it with her hands, her face flushing deeply.

Stella handed the hat back to the courier. "What happened to you? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you – "

"Got shot in the head? I did." Penelope finished flatly. The brunette looked at her incredulously. "Luckily for me, some Securitron found me half buried in Goodsprings and brought me to the doc there. He patched me up as well as he could."

"Damn, girl."

"Yeah, well, now you know why I'm not a courier anymore." She jammed the hat on her head firmly and stared into the fire. It crackled and popped, the only sound other than Joseph's pained grunting as he struggled to get into a comfortable position and the pack Brahmin snorting and shuffling.

After a while, Penelope began to speak again. "So that's why I wear the hat. I get a lot of stares otherwise – everyone always has something to say about it." She took a long drink and passed the flask back to Stella.

The brunette took it gingerly, swirling the alcohol with slow hand motions. "I'm not exactly the telling type," she remarked.

Penelope nodded. "I appreciate it."

"All of them would know that you're that courier that stirred up the Strip if I did that."

Penelope frowned and glanced at Stella. "Guess you put two and two together, huh?" she stated shrewdly.

"Not everyone gets shot in the head and lives to tell about it," Stella said mildly, taking a sip of whiskey. "Your secret's safe with me, no worries." She passed the flask back to Penelope and stood up, stretching. "What time you got on that Pip-Boy?"

Penelope tapped the screen and studied it. "10:13 – guess it's time for bed."

"Only if you want to get your full eight hours." Stella jerked a thumb to where Jed was snoring and snuffling, curled up close to the fire. "If you're an old bastard like Jed, you'll need at least ten. Or so he tells everyone." She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her pants. "Thanks for the nightcap. I'll see you in the morning."

Quietly whistling a tune to herself, she sauntered away, leaving Penelope to stare into the fire, an unreadable expression flickering in her darkened gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

_Isaiah 14:21_

_Prepare a place of slaughter for his sons…_

* * *

><p>Penelope wiped sweat from her brow and paused, gazing up at the red canyon walls in unadulterated awe. Overhead, a blue sky herded fluffy white clouds to the north, sometimes obscuring the blinding sun. She placed one hand against the canyon wall, breathing in deeply. The air here was…different. Cleaner, and almost lighter. Was this how living in the Pre-War era felt? She felt refreshed simply standing there, despite not having bathed in almost three weeks.<p>

And how long those three weeks felt! She desperately hoped that New Canaan had a hotel with a true bed, though she felt guilty and soft for wishing for such a thing. After all, hadn't she crossed the Mojave a dozen times before, with nothing but her own two feet and a pack on her back?

Jed was stopped in front of her, hands on his hips in an almost triumphant, conquering pose. He surveyed the river as though this was now his land, unspoiled by humanity. He turned to look at the rest of the caravan, all looking incredibly exhausted. Angela almost swayed on her feet, the grenade launcher only barely held in her hands.

"All right, people. Been a long couple weeks, but here we are. Zion."

Penelope took a sharp breath in. Zed had told her on the trip over how the New Canaanites were a religious people – even the name Zion was that of a holy city. For Penelope, simply being in the area, breathing in the clean, radiation-free air was practically a religious experience.

Zed looked each member of the caravan in the eye, an eyebrow cocked. "I know your feet hurt, I know you're tired. But I need everyone's mind on the trail ahead."

Stella rested her hand on her hip, giving Jed a look of pure irritation. He sighed before she even began speaking. "Ain't the trail ahead worries me, Jed. Those descents we made, through that slot canyon back up there? Ain't no way we're getting back out the way we come. And then what?"

Jed looked at Stella in exasperation. "Goddammit, Stella, heard you the first time, and the fifteenth, too." Penelope chuckled at the two of them quietly. "The New Canaanites will know a way. And if they don't," Jed said with a nod at Penelope, "we got the maps on our friend's Pip-Boy over there."

He looked across to the other caravan members. "Enough lollygagging! Get moving and keep an eye out for tribals!"

They began walking forward, guns at the ready. Penelope kept her hand on Maria, her pistol, ears perked for any noise other than their footsteps.

And she got one – a gunshot rang across the canyon, catching Joseph in the collarbone. He howled, falling to his knees as he clutched the splintered bone.

"Goddammit, ambush! Cover, people! Watch yourselves!" Jed shouted.

"Get cover!" Stella yelled, rushing to crouch behind a rock. Penelope quickly followed, finding herself shoulder to shoulder with the older woman.

"Holy hell, it's the White Legs! What are they doing this far south?" she heard Jed shout from several yards away. Another gunshot rang out, followed by a wet gurgle.

Penelope looked around the rock to see Joseph clutching his neck, which was spurting large goblets of blood from a hole the size of an egg, as he fell to his knees and finally to the ground, unmoving. "Shit," she muttered, releasing Maria and unslinging the rifle from her back. Looking through the scope, she looked across the vegetation of the upper ledge, stopping only when she finally saw her enemy.

The White Leg tribal held what looked like a .45 machine gun close to his red and white painted face. His hair was braided into a dreadlock-like style, his clothing dirty and basically just bits of reinforced armor, leaving most of his body unprotected.

Taking a breath, she aimed for his forehead and squeezed the trigger. The .308 round shot through his head, his brain exploding out of his skull to dapple the trees and bushes around him. Almost gracefully, he tumbled off of the ledge.

She spun back around so that her back was against the rock. Stella looked at her. "Get him?" she muttered, a fire burning in her eyes. Penelope nodded once.

Stella took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. "Enough of this! We're sitting ducks here!" She stood, laser rifle at the ready. "I was a sheriff once, goddamn it!" she growled, walking forward to get a better vantage point.

"Stella, don't be stupid!" Penelope hissed, trying to grab at her friend's leg and missing.

Angela let out a groan as a bullet pierced her heart and fell back, cracking her head on a rock. She shuddered before falling still. Penelope slung her rifle around again to hit a White Leg who was aiming for Stella from a hidden spot between two mesquite trees. She clutched her stomach and screamed in a guttural language, stumbling before falling down.

Stella caught a White Leg in the neck and he tried to screech, the laser blast cauterizing the wound before he could even bleed. The next shots through his lungs and heart finished him off though.

Suddenly, Stella's head snapped back with unnatural speed, her brown eyes already glassy as blood seeped down her face from the hole in her head. The bullet hit the canyon wall behind her with a puff of red dust. She slid down the wall, leaving a streak of blood against it.

"Stella! No!" Jed screamed, rushing from his hiding place to where the ex-sheriff had fallen.

"Jed, stay the fuck down!" Penelope shouted at him, whipping her rifle around to take out another White Leg closer to the river. His partner shrieked in indignation and surprise, sprinting towards the central point of the ambush.

"You can't die on me, woman, you hear?" Jed muttered, taking Stella by the shoulders. Her head lolled on her shoulders, eyes staring at the clear blue sky. A crack, and Jed was gone, lying on his side with his head in a pool of his own blood.

Penelope took out Jed's killer with the rifle before drawing Maria and shooting the last White Leg four times with a scream of rage. Even when the tribal was dead, she stood over him and pulled the trigger, teeth grinding, until the pistol's slide locked back on an empty magazine.

She stood over the White Leg for a little while, her dirty tank top covered in fresh blood, before turning to look behind her.

They were all dead. Blood splattered the walls of the canyon and mixed with the dirt into a scarlet mud. Holstering Maria, she stared mutely at the bloody scene before clenching her fists tightly at her sides, her shoulders stiffening.

"Goddammit!" she screamed, slamming one fist against the canyon wall. Her voice echoed through the valley until it faded into silence, replaced by the sound of the river lapping against the sides of the canyon.

She knelt by Stella and Jed's corpses and shut their eyes with her fingertips, her throat tightening unexpectedly. Standing, Penelope turned to look across the valley. A rope and plank bridge stretched across the river to the other side. Hesitating, she finally walked over to the duffle bags, dumping each onto the ground. She left the silverware and the clothing alone, stuffing the medicine, the ammo, and whatever else looked helpful into one of the empty duffel bags before slinging it over her shoulder and checking that her rifle was soundly secured.

Penelope closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before taking the first step. Her soft footfalls against the dirt sounded like gunshots in the silence. The bridge swayed under her feet, the rushing water filling her ears as she walked. She paused at the other side, unsure if she had heard something or not.

There was a rustle and she turned on her heel, hand on Maria's ivory handle. The first bullet whizzed past her ear and she drew the pistol. The White Leg, concealed in the foliage, aimed again and squeezed the trigger.

The familiar burning sensation of a gunshot wound spread from below her collarbone to across her shoulders and chest. She fell to her knees, still gripping Maria as her vision blurred. She saw a young man in a baseball cap, trimmed with feathers, sneaking behind the White Leg and slitting his throat with a long Bowie knife. The blood fanned out, splattering the leaves.

The man in the cap approached her as she struggled to keep herself from falling over, hand planted on the ground. Drops of blood dripped slowly from her chest wound.

"Hoi!" he said. His eyes widened at the sight of the bullet wound in her chest. She looked up at him and saw his war paint. A tribal.

"Help…me…" Penelope croaked before her vision went totally black and toppled over into the dirt.


	4. Chapter 4

_Psalm 147:3_

_He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds._

* * *

><p>Penelope had the distinct feeling of being dragged on some sort of material – woven leaves, maybe? – and then floating, drifting on water that soaked into her clothing before being dragged on dry land. Her eyes opened only once or twice, to see shapeless figures milling around her, making sounds that she didn't understand. All at once, the sun disappeared, easing her eyes. They closed once more.<p>

"We'll have to take off her shirt," she heard through the haze of pain and blood loss. The cotton slipped over her skin, catching at the dried blood and pulling at her skin until it slipped over her head. There was a wet, burning sensation at the bullet wound and the smell of alcohol, and she jerked involuntarily with a cry, her eyes flickering open.

"Hold her down, Follows-Chalk," a husky voice murmured above her. Two tanned hands reached out and gripped her freckled shoulders, pinning her to the floor. Her eyes partially opened, she watched as hands wrapped in gauze and holding tweezers hovered over her chest. When the tweezers dipped into the bullet wound, she shrieked.

"It seems that the bullet missed her ribs – it's perforated the muscle by her shoulder. The bullet hasn't fragmented, but it's in there pretty deep," the husky voice continued, unflinching from Penelope's unintentional spasms. "I don't want to remove it until we're sure that the surrounding area is stitched up as best we can. After that, it should be a simple case of pulling out the bullet and then stitching up the wound."

Penelope, now semi-awake, gritted her teeth in pain.

"I'm going to give you an anesthetic," the voice said, and it took Penelope a moment to realize it was speaking to her. "It will reduce some of the pain – not all of it, but it will make it a bit more bearable. Trouble is, it is a paralytic, and I imagine you may also fall asleep because of it. Is that alright?"

She hesitated before giving a slow nod. A bowl filled with some foul smelling liquid was lifted to her mouth. She swallowed it quickly, trying not to taste it too much, though god knows she had eaten much worse in the Wasteland.

After a moment, a sensation of haziness settled over her body. Penelope felt as though she was wrapped up in a cloud.

One of the gauze wrapped hands settled gently on her forehead; surprisingly cool, it pushed her hair away from her face. "Can you feel it working?"

She nodded, her eyes half shut.

The tweezers held open the wound as a needle, sterilized over a flame, dipped into the hole. She grunted as it pierced her and then fell silent, her teeth grit. Clearly, the anesthetic would still allow her to feel pain, though it was not as bad as it would be without it.

"I'm going to remove the bullet now," the husky voice said, the hand stroking her forehead.

The tweezers dipped in and pulled the bullet out slowly. She shrieked with pain, unable to move.

Finally, it was all over, hands were smearing something over the wound, and it was being stitched closed. She panted, her eyes focusing blearily on the world around her.

"Good job," the husky voice said, and her eyes flicked over to the source.

A man, his lean body wrapped in gauze and wearing a white shirt with a bulletproof vest over it, leaned over her, his fingers stained with her blood. All she could see of his face was two bright blue eyes, the skin around it taut and discolored in a dark and angry brown shade. He removed his hand from her forehead and lifted a bottle of water to her lips.

After she had laid her head back down, she continued looking up at him. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice still a little hoarse as her eyes threatened to close.

He paused, resting his hand on her forehead once again. "My name is Joshua Graham," he said after a moment. "Welcome to Zion."

Penelope's eyes finally closed in sleep, the sensation of the hand stroking her forehead fading.

. . .

Penelope turned over and groaned, sitting up. She held her throbbing head with her one free hand, the other being bound to her torso. A dull pain spread across her chest. She touched the wound gently, realizing that her bra and shirt were gone, her breasts only bound with gauze.

She looked down and was surprised to see a woven blanket in her lap. Lifting it up, she examined the fur underneath it – it looked like it came from a bighorner. A bottle of water sat to her right. Her mouth suddenly felt like a desert, and she picked it up to drain it.

Looking around, she realized she was in a cave, lit by torches and lanterns. Paint decorated the walls in crude drawings and figures. A hole in the ceiling of the cave let light filter through to illuminate the cave better.

"We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but it looks like the White Legs beat us to it."

Penelope twisted her head and lifted her eyes to the figure sitting at the table above her. The bandaged man was examining pistols, his hands moving over them in a steady and practiced motion as he removed the magazine, checked the barrel, and slid the magazine back in. His bandages were now blood-free and pristine. She lifted the blanket to cover her semi-bared chest, self-conscious of the naked skin.

"White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn't have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us." His hands paused and his bright blue eyes flicked over to where Penelope was sitting. "I don't know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy. I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even Gentiles, but we can't expect God to do all the work."

Penelope stared at him silently. His gauze moved as he quirked an eyebrow. "I apologize for having to remove the bullet, but the White Legs dip them in poison from time to time. I'm afraid your rather violent reaction to being shot was from the dark datura essence. You handled that surprisingly well, however."

"I guess it comes from being shot before," she replied simply. Something flickered in his eyes.

"Yes, the head wound. I had noticed that."

Penelope shook her head, clearing her hazy thoughts left over from sleep. "How do you know so much about what happened to me, anyway?"

"Other than being brought here with that wound of yours? The Dead Horses are capable scouts. Nothing passes into or out of Zion without my hearing of it."

Penelope paused, her eyes downcast as she searched for the next thing to say. "I…came here with the Happy Trails Caravan Company." When he didn't say anything, she began to speak again. "To make contact with the New Canaanites."

When he replied, his voice was quiet. "Happy Trails. I remember. They were good friends." His eyes scrutinized her. "I have bad news for your employers. New Canaan was destroyed, its citizens scatted. All because of the White Legs." His voice hardened. "And Caesar, of course."

"Caesar? How?" Penelope asked, her eyebrows rising.

"The White Legs want to join the Legion. Caesar's rite of passage is the destruction of the New Canaanites, almost assuredly because of me." He resumed examining the pistols. "The good news is that we can help you find your way back. Daniel, one of the other New Canaanites, has made many maps of the region. The bad news is that we can't help you right now. Not with everything that's going on."

Penelope touched her wound gently, eyebrows furrowed. The only noise in the cave was the clicking of the pistols.

"I'm not going to leave," she said finally, "without offering to help. What can I do?"

He searched her face with his piercing blue eyes. "You're a good neighbor to us. We all go through periods of darkness. In such times, we can turn to the Lord, but it's good to have friends." He hesitated. "However, I will ask that you heal a little more before you help us. That's not to say we don't need your help. I would be more comfortable if you were healed further before asking for your assistance."

Penelope nodded. She looked down at herself again.

"Er, Mr. Graham…"

"Please, call me Joshua," he replied.

"Where are my clothes?"

There was silence for a moment before Joshua scraped his chair back and walked over to a shelf. He picked up a small folded pile of clothes and placed it beside Penelope. "Your clothes are being washed right now, so all I can offer you is my own." Their eyes met briefly before his flicked away.

"I must apologize – I never asked your name," he stated as he stood and turned.

"It's, um, Penelope," she said. She paused. "I don't know if you know this," she began, "but Caesar is dead." Her green eyes hardened. "I saw to it personally."

The bandaged man froze mid-step. Silence filled the cave once more. He turned his head.

"I have to admit," he said softly over his shoulder, "it's hard to believe. That even after all he did to me, all he tried to do to find and erase me from this world, he went first." He shook his head, as though shaking himself from his thoughts. "No doubt this will be good for the Mojave. I can only hope that Arizona and the tribes don't suffer as the Legion falls apart around them."

"They won't," Penelope said, her voice hard. "I'll make sure the Legion has very little to go home with."

Joshua turned and scrutinized her face, her eyebrows drawn and her mouth curled in a vicious frown. "Hmm. Good." Startled, she looked up at him. "You're doing God's work, whether you believe it or not."

He started walking to the mouth of the cave, his bandaged hands pushed into his pockets.

"Eat and rest. I will send some Dead Horses to attend to you, and I will check on you tomorrow morning."

Penelope lowered her eyes and nodded, still clutching the blanket to her chest.


	5. Chapter 5

_Isaiah 40:11_

_Like a shepherd He will tend His flock, In His arm He will gather the lambs and carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead the nursing ewes._

* * *

><p>The Dead Horse woman plaited Penelope's hair with deft fingers, pinning the last braid up in the complicated hairstyle with a chirp of happiness and a smile.<p>

Penelope leaned over the water to gaze at her reflection, smiling broadly. "Very pretty," she replied. Grows-Tall, the Dead Horse woman, smiled even wider, clapping her hands together. She stood and left to clean her pistol as Penelope planted her straw hat carefully over her new hairstyle.

Follows-Chalk came over, an earthen bowl in his hand. "Hoi!" he greeted, his smile wide underneath his feathered cap. He pushed the stew towards Penelope with a dip of his head.

She took it gratefully and gazed at him. "You're the one who found me, yes?"

Follows-Chalk colored and nodded. She smiled at him gently. "Thank you." Lifting the flat wooden utensil to her mouth, she brightened. "God, that's good!"

Follows-Chalk puffed his chest proudly. "I helped kill the Bighorner for the food. I am glad you like it."

Penelope ate the stew greedily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She lay back, placing her free hand under her head. She glanced at Follows-Chalk, her eyes tracing the tattoos over his body.

"What are all those markings all over you?"

The young tribal touched his chest, where little black triangles were tattooed in geometric lines. "Dead Horses mark ourselves to commemorate our hunts. When a hunter takes a great beast, or when a youth goes on his first hunt, he gets a tattoo."

"You must have taken several great beasts to have that many," Penelope remarked. Follows-Chalk nodded proudly. She closed her eyes and breathed in the clean air.

"Tell me about this area, Follows-Chalk – any interesting wildlife?"

He shrugged. "Mostly it's the mountain Bighorners - whole herd of them up on the cliffs there. Usually they're not too aggressive, but lately... hoo!" He shook his head. "My guess is one of the calves got lost somewhere along the way. Bighorners are communal - one missing calf, and the whole herd gets ornery. If that calf doesn't turn up soon, they might very well come down into the valley and attack the camp."

Penelope opened her eyes and sat up, looking at Follows-Chalk. "Maybe I can help with that," she remarked, "if you can come with me to cover my back."

The tribal perked up visibly. "Yeah? Hey, thanks - most of the hunters don't listen when I tell them the problem. Just one thing - try not to kill any Bighorners if you can, yeah? You'll drive the herd off, and we'll have to range farther on our hunts."

"Well, what do you suggest I do, then?"

Follows-Chalk frowned, thinking. "Hmm…you might try luring the baby out with some banana yucca. These Bighorners go crazy for the stuff."

Penelope struggled to get to her feet, her bound hand making her unbalanced. "Lucky for me I collected a bit on the journey here. Will you grab my pack for me?"

As Follows-Chalk left to collect her things, pain bloomed in her chest, and she almost fell over, feeling nauseous.

"Are you alright?" the tribal asked as he returned, the duffel bag in his hand. Penelope shook her head, reaching for the bag and opening it. She rooted around in it with a shaking hand before pulling out a vial of Med-X and slipping the needle as steadily as she could into an exposed vein on her bound arm.

The pain fizzled away after a few moments and she let out a long, pent up breath. Follows-Chalk eyed her worriedly.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asked. Penelope shook her head, giving him a weak smile.

"I'm fine now. There was just some pain," she tried to explain before standing up tall. She strapped Maria to her hip as best she could with one hand, buckling the belt with some trouble. A few banana yucca fruits were placed in a satchel hanging from the belt.

"Lead the way," she said cheerfully after a moment, trying to hide her shakiness. Follows-Chalk still looked worried, but he nodded and began to walk through the red chasms.

Penelope brushed her free hand against the canyon walls, her fingertips brushing over the white and red mud paintings done by the Dead Horses. She gazed at the crude shapes and humans, wiping the dust from the mud on her trousers.

"This way, outsider!" Follows-Chalk called and Penelope hurried after him. She grunted as she walked up the steep slope of one of the paths, panting as she reached the top.

"Any idea where the calf might have gone?" she asked, still wheezing slightly.

"I don't think it would have gone too far from the herd," Follows-Chalk replied, the steep climb having no effect on him. He glanced over at her and his eyes widened. "Ah! Such steep climbs can't be good for you – I am sorry!"

Penelope waved her hand at him dismissively. "Don't worry about it, man," she sighed, straightening. "Let's go find that baby bighorner."

They walked across several stone bridges, Penelope looking over the edge hesitantly. Below, the river snaked through the canyons. With a deep breath, she looked away and hurried to follow her tribal friend more closely.

He suddenly held out his arm and Penelope stopped, peeking out from around him.

A Bighorner bull snorted in front of them, chewing at a small tuft of grass that was growing next to a boulder. The pale red fur was matted and colored even redder by the dirt in the Zion Valley. It let out a grunt and its yellow eyes watched the two of them standing stock-still.

"Walk around him – as far as you can get away from him without falling off the fucking cliff," Penelope murmured, her eyes locked with the Bighorner. Follows-Chalk nodded and began to slide to his left, walking around the Bighorner bull. It snorted again, eyes narrowing.

Penelope followed the tribal in his shuffle. "Don't even think about touching that club of yours, either," she hissed as she saw his hand drift towards the weapon on his back. The hand froze before falling away, and he nodded.

The only noise was the cicadas and the shuffling of their footsteps as they stepped around the bull. It stomped once and the two young adults stopped almost immediately, Penelope holding her breath until the bull turned away, uninterested.

Quickly, they hurried away to stand behind a boulder. Follows-Chalk looked at Penelope.

"That was close, neh?"

Penelope nodded, relief flooding her body, almost more potent than Med-X. "Let's find that calf and get this over with," she sighed.

They snuck around the cliff, Penelope picking extra banana yucca fruits as a just in case and avoiding any Bighorners they happened to come across. They turned down a tight passage, the canyon walls reaching high above them as it narrowed. Penelope squinted in the bright sunlight, reaching her hand up to block the bright sunlight. At the end of the passage, a lone Bighorner calf snuffled and snorted heavily, its eyes wide as it shivered in fear.

Penelope opened her pack and pulled out one of the banana yucca fruits, holding it out to calf. "Here, girl," she murmured, making a clicking noise with her tongue.

The calf's nostrils moved as it snuffled over the banana yucca fruit before taking its too wet, too large lips and eating the fruit right out of her hand. Penelope giggled, lifting her hand to pet the calf's nose. It butted its head gently into Penelope's stomach and she fell on to her rear almost immediately, laughing.

"Looks like that calf's taken a liking to you," Follows-Chalk said admiringly.

She picked herself up and started to walk, the calf following closely behind. Follows-Chalk picked up his pace to walk beside her.

As they walked, Penelope looked at her companion. "Tell me about your tribe," she said. "I haven't had the chance to ask anybody about the Dead Horses."

Follows Chalk beamed and started to talk. "We came up in the Land of the Dead Horse, though why the Back When folks called it that," he shrugged, "I got no hint. We raided, we fought... we lost. Our enemies drove us back into Zion, and we would have died if it hadn't been for Joshua. Joshua, and his Caesar."

Penelope nodded, but then stopped and looked at her friend. "Wait. What about Caesar?"

"When Joshua first came to us, he was servant to a man he called Caesar. He led his master's armies, and we were ready to follow him into war."

"He was a legate in the Legion?" Penelope blurted out, her eyes going round. The calf made another snuffling noise, and she hastily fed it another yucca fruit.

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged again. "But then he lost his master's army to a tribe called 'Enseeyar', the Sunset People. When he returned, he was as you saw him - burned, broken, but changed." Follows-Chalk mouth broadened into a smile. "He led us away from Caesar, led us to our own destiny in Zion."

"He told me that Caesar was after him." She paused, processing this information. "What…happened to him?" she asked finally, her voice soft as she walked towards the herd. The calf happily trudged behind her, snuffling heavily.

"Well, before he left, he didn't have those bandages all over his face. That tell you something?"

Penelope's eyebrows drew together as she frowned and looked away. There was a loud bellow and the two of them stopped, staring at the mother bighorner up ahead. The calf behind them made a huffing noise and bounded forward to nuzzle up against its mother.

"That'll be some happy mama, huh?" Follows-Chalk glanced at Penelope. "Thank you for helping with this - really. It means a lot."

"Ah, no problem," she replied, scratching the back of her head underneath her straw hat. "Let's get back to camp, shall we?"

They traversed the canyon and Follows-Chalk assisted Penelope down the steepest part of the trail. Splashing through parts of the water, Follows-Chalk suddenly stopped and raised his arm, waving. Penelope looked up to see Joshua at the water's edge, a book in his hand. He waved back.

Follows-Chalk approached and sat beside the New Canaanite. "Good book, neh?"

"Indeed it is, Follows-Chalk." His blue-eyed gaze switched to the thin blonde standing in front of him, her hat pulled over her forehead. "And what have you two been up to this fine day?"

"Penelope helped me find a Bighorner calf and return it to its mama," the tribal replied. "She would make a good hunter, or scout."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Joshua replied, his gaze fixated on Penelope. It took every ounce of her being to keep from blushing brightly.

"Thank you," she said finally.

Joshua slipped in a long stalk of grass to mark his place in the book and closed it, standing. "I haven't yet had the chance to get your wound tended to yet. Come to Angel Cave and I'll have the healer attend to you."

Penelope nodded and watched Joshua walk away.

"Joshua is a great leader for the Dead Horses, neh?" Follows-Chalk said with admiration in his voice.

"Yes," she said softly, "I suppose he is."


	6. Chapter 6

_1 Chronicles 21:8_

_…__ "__I have sinned greatly by doing this. Now, I beg you, take away the guilt of your servant"…_

* * *

><p>Penelope turned her head as Joshua and the healer examined the stitches on her shoulder. She didn't want him to see her blush if she caught his eyes.<p>

It was strange. She had never been ashamed of anyone seeing her naked body. But under Joshua's ice blue gaze, she felt vulnerable, exposed – a feeling she hadn't experienced before.

"You're healing well, Penelope. I expect in a few days you will be able to use your arm again without any worry about tearing what has already healed," he stated. She nodded mutely. "How does your shoulder feel?"

"There's…pain," she admitted hesitantly, "but nothing a little Med-X can't fix."

He nodded at her and spoke to the healer in the Dead Horse language. She stood and left as Joshua dabbed alcohol into Penelope's wound. The courier flinched with the sharp stab of pain.

"I have a question for you, Joshua."

"Yes?" he said absently, still examining the stitched flesh.

"What's all this…'pray' stuff you've been talking about?" Her eyes raised to meet his, and he paused in his actions. He put his hands on his knees.

"As a New Canaanite, we believe we are the heirs of a spiritual tradition given to our ancestors thousands of years ago. We have made and kept covenants with our Lord, God, to honor his laws. In exchange, we are promised eternal salvation after this life."

He lifted the alcohol soaked rag and continued to dab at the stitching. "A day will come when our Lord returns to judge us all. Until then, we must honor his laws and start others along the path of salvation if we can." His voice was firm, resolute. Penelope's eyebrows drew together. "That's why we trade with others and work with the tribes. We have more than food and medicine to offer. Good news is our most valuable commodity."

"A life that never truly ends, even after death…" Penelope murmured, her eyes distant. "It sounds like a pretty good deal."

He wiped away the excess alcohol and tilted his head. "In a world filled with misery and uncertainty, it is a great comfort to know that, in the end, there is light in the darkness." Joshua stood and rifled through his shelves, returning with a length of gauze. "Every day, we move closer to our judgment. We must do our best to walk in the footsteps of our Lord and teach others how to do the same."

He wrapped the gauze around the wound, securing it tightly with a Pre-War bobby pin. Penelope watched his eyes, intent on the task in front of him. "For many of us, the road is a difficult one, but the path is always there for us to follow, no matter how many times we may fall."

He stood and walked back to the shelves, removing a book from a box – a weather worn edition with a simple design on the cover.

"Would you like to read more about all of this? It will explain our beliefs better than I ever could." Penelope nodded, pulling her shirt over her head, and Joshua placed the book in her lap.

She touched his arm, her eyes never wavering from him. He froze, lifting his head.

"Do you ever 'fall'?" she asked softly.

They stared at each other for a moment before his head dropped again.

"Every day," he said quietly. "Some days are…harder than others." Penelope reached forward and took his hand.

The cave was silent. Joshua stood, removing his hand from hers and taking the old gauze bandages to throw them in the fire. They curled in on themselves, alighting almost immediately with an orange glow.

"You were a Legate in the Legion, yes?"

Joshua Graham started violently before turning, his eyes distant. "I suppose it's no secret," he remarked. "Yes. I was the Malpais Legate who lost the dam." He gazed at Penelope, who felt herself shrinking under his gaze. "I did a lot of things in the Legion, things I am not proud of. The things I did ashamed my tribe and brought dishonor on me, but I didn't care. Not at the time.

"It wasn't until Caesar covered me in pitch, lit me on fire and threw me into the Grand Canyon that I realized the error of my ways." He laughed without humor. "I had to feel hellfire to realize my wrongdoings." He lifted his bandaged hands and stared at them.

"How did you…survive?" Penelope asked hesitantly.

"I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me. I fell down into that dark chasm, but the flame burned on and on." Joshua raised his eyes to meet Penelope's. "The next morning, I woke up and crawled out of the northern edge of the Grand Canyon, that cursed place. It took me three month to reach New Canaan." His eyes softened.

"It was as through the prodigal son had returned," he said quietly. "They welcomed me like I had never left." His eyes dropped. "Never done anything to…shame them.

"The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God's love." He walked to sit beside Penelope, resting his arm on his knees. "I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to them, but I must try."

Penelope hesitated before reaching out, placing her hand on his arm. After a moment, a gauze wrapped hand covered hers. They sat in silence, neither one of them saying anything, not having to say anything.

"Are you in much pain?" Penelope asked, her voice gentle. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

The gauze around his mouth seemed to twitch and from the look in his eyes, Penelope guessed he had a sad smile underneath the wrappings. "You are kind to offer, but no, there's nothing you can do. We don't use chems, but I learned long ago that I'm immune to their effects." He hesitated before speaking a little more softly. "It never stops burning. My skin. Every day, I have to unwind the bandages and replace them with fresh ones. Exposing my body to the air is like living through…_it_ again." He gave a small, rueful shrug. "But it's better to be clean than comfortable."

"Joshua," Penelope said firmly, "I was a doctor with the NCR. I have dealt with radiation, chemical, electrical, and just straight up burns of all degrees. I can help you. You just…have to let me in."

Joshua breathed in sharply before he tilted his head. "I… Give me a moment, please," he murmured, rubbing his arms. His eyebrows pulled together, a worried look in his eyes.

"If you don't want to, Joshua, you don't have to," she said. He looked up at her, tilting his head before beginning to speak uncertainly.

"No, I'm just…preparing myself." He lifted his head and looked at her. "I need to change my bandages anyways."

Slowly, he loosened the side straps of the bulletproof vest and let it fall to the ground. His brown fingers, wrapped in gauze, began to unbutton his white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. Bandages were wrapped around his chest and shoulders, leaving nothing uncovered. He unwound them gently and they fell to the floor in loops around him, his skin exposed. Penelope took a sudden breath.

Across his skin, angry rashes spread across the flesh, eating into him. Where there had been blisters were deep scars, marking him with strange shapes and ridges. His chest and arms were leathery, the skin taut and clinging to the lean muscle. Her eyes travelled upwards, to his neck, and finally his face. She stood and walked over to him as he looked away from her, humiliation burning in his eyes. With one hand, she touched a partially healed cheek, turning him to look at her.

They locked eyes in an unwavering gaze before she removed her hand and studied his face. He was asymmetrical from the burn scars, one cheek eaten away by fire, his jawline an angry red and white that crept down his throat. His blue eyes were almost more vibrant against the angry red skin.

She could see the ghost of the man he used to be: the black fuzz on the top of his head spoke of healthy, ebony hair once upon a time; the nose had been straight and thin, the cheekbones bearing a regal profile that ended in a shapely mouth above a square, determined jaw.

"Now you see the effects of my pride and brutality," he said. His fire-hoarsened voice sounded strange, not muffled by the gauze wraps – she couldn't help but watch his tightened lips move and form each word in something akin to curiosity.

"It's…" She licked her lips, rewetting her mouth. "It's possible to help you. My father, he…he told me about a Vault engineer who had almost become electrocuted. Burns very similar to yours. You are very lucky that some of the skin is healed, I must say."

Joshua snorted. "Yes, very lucky. So, what do you propose for me, then?"

"Normally, I would use a stimpak, but, as you yourself said, chems have no effect on you. Not surprising, due to the depth of third degree burns." Penelope bit her lip. "I have an idea, I just need to find the ingredients for it. The worst we can do is try." She raised her eyes to meet his. "If that's alright with you."

"I would be foolish not to say yes, especially if it does help in the end," he replied. "Thank you for your kindness, Penelope."

"Uh," she muttered, dropping her gaze to push down the heat in her cheeks. "N-no problem."

"If you don't mind, we can do it tomorrow. Until then, I need to bathe and reapply my bandages. If you will excuse me."

Penelope nodded. "Of course, sorry." She beat a hasty retreat, the book clutched tightly in her fingers. As soon as she was out of his presence, she dropped the book and dipped a hand into a satchel attached to her belt, removing a vial of Med-X. With a deep breath, she slid the needle in and sighed as the chem fizzled through her veins to ease her pain.

Behind her, Joshua touched his scarred face, his fingertips tracing the ridges, and let out a pent up breath.


	7. Chapter 7

_Romans 3:23_

_For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God_

* * *

><p>"I want to help you and Daniel," she said.<p>

Penelope picked up one of the .45's that Joshua was inspecting and aimed it at the other side of the cave, keeping the safety on. She admired the build of the pistol, its solid weight in her hands.

"Help with what?" he said, not looking up from his work.

"With everything that's going on! You know, the thing I was going to do, except you wouldn't let me because of my injury." She placed the pistol on the table gently.

"Injury is an understatement," he replied, glancing up at her and crooking an eyebrow. "Severe poisoning and bullet wound to a muscle group is a better description. I doubt you're ready to start doing anything arduous."

"Oh, come on." Penelope folded her arms. "The healer removed the bandages this morning, doesn't that say something?"

Joshua paused and looked up at Penelope again, his eyes alighting on her free arms. "Moon-Rising hadn't told me that she had done so," he said with some annoyance.

"She said that it was healed enough. Or at least, I thought she did." Penelope looked a little sheepish. "I wasn't exactly sure what she said."

Joshua let out a low chuckle. "Well, let me at least see it."

Penelope pulled aside the strap of her tank top, displaying the still stitched wound. Joshua examined it before probing it with his finger gently.

"Well, I have to agree with Moon-Rising, actually." He nodded. "The bandages were ready to be removed."

"Great. Now that we've established that the bandages should have been removed when they already were," she remarked, a hint of sarcasm underlying her words, "I would like to know what you want me to do."

"I am still hesitant to let you go out to do what is needed. The hike around the valley is strenuous, at best, and deadly at worst." He resumed his work, picking up a pistol and ejecting the clip to examine the barrel.

Penelope sighed, replacing her tank top strap and leaning against the table. "I've walked three miles with a broken leg to get to a doctor before. This will be a walk in the park, comparatively." She secured her straw hat with a light touch. "Come on, Joshua."

He stopped and sighed. "If I send you, will you stop pestering me?" His voice betrayed his amusement. She nodded vigorously.

"Fine." He slapped the clip back into the gun and put it aside. "Daniel and I need Pre-War tools to help us navigate beyond Zion. Should we need to evacuate, these instruments will be vital to us. Normally we would have some of the Dead Horses or Sorrows look for them, but many Pre-War buildings in the valley are taboo."

"And…?" Penelope pressed.

"They won't go inside." He checked the barrel of the next pistol and pushed a long brush into it, swabbing around.

"No, I mean, why are they considered taboo?"

"Well, the Sorrows believe in a spirit that lives in the caves, say the spirit punished them once for trespassing. They put special marks around the cave entrances to keep people out. It doesn't work on the White Legs, of course, but the Dead Horses are spooked."

Penelope nodded, intent on his words. "And the Pre-War buildings?"

"Same problem, different area." He removed the brush and resumed his examination.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. Follows-Chalk can help you find your way around the valley. He's inexperienced, but he knows enough of our language to ignore the taboo about Pre-War buildings. " He paused. "Was there another reason you are here?"

"Yes – we need to change your bandages again."

Joshua's eyes narrowed before he sighed. "I suppose it is that time again." He grunted as he stood, the chair scraping against the dirt floor of the cave. "Let's get this over with."

Once he removed his bulletproof vest and shirt, Penelope began to carefully unwrap the gauze, starting with his face. She could see his lips pull back in a wince as the cool air hit his scars. She rolled the strips into tight bunches to disinfect later – the amount of gauze required to cover Joshua's entire body was too much to simply throw away.

He sat down on a length of Bighorner hide, his back straight as Penelope inspected his back, and the most heavily scarred area, while she sat behind him. Taking a stone bowl, she crushed the petals of a broc flower while adding shreds of xander root, and aloe for good measure. She added a little water and crushed the ingredients into a pale green paste.

She poured a measure of vodka into her hands and washed herself with it. The alcohol stung – badly – on a few cuts on her hands, but she paid it no mind as she dipped her fingers into the bowl to scoop out some of the paste.

She could feel Joshua tense under her fingertips as she spread the paste thinly over his back's scars and red skin. "You need to relax," she chided him gently.

His muscles relaxed, but only a little. "I'm afraid it's been a long time since something like this," he confessed.

"What? Being tended to?"

He didn't move for a moment before speaking. "Being touched by a woman."

Penelope's hands stopped moving over his back. "I'm sorry I pried," she apologized, resuming her work gently.

"No, I… You aren't prying," he said. They were quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "Her name was Myra." He whispered her name like it was a religion.

Penelope eyes dropped from the back of his head to his back, her cheeks burning. It felt like she was intruding on him in his most vulnerable state to hear this.

"I'm sure you know the state of slaves in the Legion," he murmured. "Especially women. It was…despicable how she was treated. The abuse she suffered was something no one should go through. Perhaps except Caesar himself," he added, his husky voice suddenly angry. Penelope remained mute, her fingertips lightly touching his back. His flinched as one of her fingers pressed too hard and she paused to resume at a more gentle pace.

"She was sent to me one day, as a prize for winning a battle against the NCR. I didn't touch her – we just talked. From dusk to dawn, she spoke to me of her home outside of New Reno, on a small Brahmin ranch. I requested her a few more times after that when I was in need of a friend.

"Eventually, I fell in love with her. I'll never know if she loved me – how could she? But she was taken from me – yet another cost of my sins."

He stopped talking, leaving them to sit in silence.

"What…happened?" she asked tentatively.

"A centurion had his way with her and…" Joshua hesitated. "And slit her throat when he was finished."

Penelope watched as his fists clenched tightly and removed her hands from his back. "I snapped his neck right in the middle of the Fort, with everyone watching. Caesar laughed at the sight of my bloodied hands."

He turned his head to look at Penelope, who was looking away with an odd look on her face. "I hope I haven't upset you," he said gravely.

She shook her head. "No, I've heard worse. I just… I have my own ghosts, you know?"

"You'll have to tell me about them," Joshua remarked.

Penelope hesitated. "I don't know…"

"'Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another,'" Joshua quoted, "'that you may be healed.'"

She stood and kneeled in front of him with the stone bowl. He lifted his arm, and she trickled her paste-covered fingers down his side.

"I don't know how many people I've killed," she stated. "I don't even know if they deserved it or if it was just out of my anger." Her fingers suddenly trembled. "I...I followed the man who shot me in the head to his casino in New Vegas and seduced him. And I let him…I let him…"

She looked up at Joshua, a hardness in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "I slit his throat before he woke up. All for a little chip. Granted, the chip was what got me shot in the head and, in having it, gave me control of New Vegas, but…" Penelope looked away from Joshua, humiliation and shame burning in her face. "I don't know if one person should be given all that power."

She scooped up another handful of the paste and spread it over his chest, feeling the wiry muscles that bunched under her touch. "I'm not sure if I can handle all of that power," she confessed.

A scarred hand touched hers and she stopped in her movement. Her heart pounded uncontrollably.

"If I can teach you anything, it is that power can and will destroy you." She felt his breath against her face and looked up to lock eyes with him, her heart beating like a drum.

Penelope jumped up, taking her hand out from under his. "I… I'll send the healer in to help you, I should get moving," she said, her words mashing together as she stumbled to get them out. Her face heated quickly as she turned on her heel to hurry out the door.

Joshua watched her go, his face expressionless save for his sad blue eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

_Ecclesiastes 4:9_

_Two are better than one, _

_for they can help each other succeed._

* * *

><p>"So I finally get to explore all those taboo places without the other scouts yelling at me?" Follows-Chalk grin stretched from ear to ear. "Can't wait."<p>

Penelope smiled, kneeling beside the duffel bag she was packing. A few stimpaks, some extra ammunition…definitely some Med-X. Surprisingly, the hurt had somewhat increased – but now Penelope needed two of the vials at a time just to feel as though she wasn't going to blackout.

Hefting the bag over her shoulder, she tapped her Pip-Boy screen, examining the area where the walkie-talkies should be found. The Pre-War building was called the Zion Fishing Lodge.

"You ready to go?" she said finally, checking that her rifle was properly slung over her back and that Maria was holstered securely. Follows-Chalk nodded eagerly, and set off at a quick pace through the water away from camp. Penelope hastily removed her shoes and socks, rolling up her trousers and following the young man through the water.

The trip took about three hours, and they only stopped walking through the valley when Penelope halted atop one of the cliff-side trails, exclaiming with delight.

"This valley is so…different," she sighed, her eyes drifting over the red canyons and plateaus that framed the clear blue Virgin River. Overhead, a few birds soared gracefully, dancing silhouettes against the cottony clouds. The shadows were stretching as the sun sank closer and closer to the horizon, kissing the tops of the canyons.

"Nice view of the river, neh?" Follows-Chalk said cheerfully. He paused. "What's the phrase? 'House sweet house'?"

Penelope laughed kindly. "I believe the term is 'home sweet home'. But you were very close." She looked away for a moment and checked her Pip-Boy. "We aren't too far away now – and it's starting to get dark. We should probably just hole up there for the night."

He nodded and turned, his bare feet padding gently against the dirt. Penelope hefted her duffel bag once more and walked after him, casting one last awe-filled glance over the valley.

They descended through steep trails, Penelope's shoulder beginning to ache. She resolved to take some Med-X when they reached the lodge which – she looked ahead and brightened – was right in front of them.

It was surprising that the L-shaped building was still standing, being built from wood. Penelope could see some rot on the stairs, though, even from her distance. Strange red and white splotches covered the doorway, and when she was closer, she realized that they were red handprints painted over white backgrounds.

"See those handprints?" Follows-Chalk said. Penelope nodded mutely. "Dead Horses and Sorrows mark them on taboo places, place from Back When." He grinned. "Good thing for you I don't buy into that stuff."

She climbed the stairs carefully, hesitating with each creak of wood underneath her feet. The river beside the lodge was now a deep, night-blue with the setting of the sun beneath the canyon walls.

Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for any noise and was rewarded with the snarl and thumping. "You should pull out that club of yours, Follows-Chalk," she remarked. "The lodge doesn't appear to be empty."

Drawing Maria, she flicked the safety off and made a motion to follow her. The young man nodded and she turned the handle of the door.

It flew open and the green geckos snarled, their mouths opening like umbrellas in a hiss of rage. Penelope placed her other hand over the pistol and aimed carefully before shooting out the eye of one of them.

Follows-Chalk flew forward with a cry, his bullet casing-studded war club smashing straight into the skull of another lizard with a dull crunch. He wrenched the bloodied weapon from the dead animal and kicked out at the last one, sending it flying across the lodge. It hit the bar with a squeal, shattering the glasses left standing there from the Pre-War. As it stood to hiss at Follows-Chalk, Penelope took aim once more and pulled the trigger.

The bullet sank into the creature's neck and flew out the other side, smashing into a cabinet with a sharp crack. The gecko gave out a rasp and squeak of pain, its head swinging to look at Penelope, who pulled the trigger once more. This time, the bullet smashed into the oversized lizard's head, creating a hole the size of a barn door between its eyes. It fell behind the bar and hit the ground with a dull thunk.

Penelope didn't loosen her grip on Maria until ten seconds of silence passed. Flicking the safety back on, she holstered the pistol and knelt beside one of the geckos, inspecting the corpse.

"Feel like gecko tonight?" she asked, pulling out a long, leather-sheathed Bowie knife from her duffle bag.

. . .

Penelope bit into the meat speared on the wooden rod, chewing heavily as she rifled through the numerous boxes. She pulled out the empty whiskey bottles and destroyed fishing magazines with a huff of annoyance.

Follows-Chalk poked his head up over the bar. "What do these 'walkie-talkies' look like again?"

"They're…black boxes. With little sticks poking out of the top of them," Penelope offered through another mouthful of gecko, her other hand still in a wooden box. The young man nodded and went away.

Penelope sighed and stood; placing her hand on the cabinet she had been leaning against, she looked at it for a moment before trying the handle. It didn't budge.

She removed her hat, pulling out a bobby pin that held up a loose strand of hair. Putting down the wooden stick, now stripped of meat, and gripping her knife in the other hand, she fiddled with the bobby pin as she pushed the knife to try and turn the lock. After five minutes of pushing the bobby pin inside the lock, she heard a satisfying click and leaned back.

The cabinet door swung open, revealing two walkie-talkies sitting on a low shelf behind a few bottles of tequila. She pushed aside the alcohol to grab the black appliances.

"Hey, Follows-Chalk, I found them" she called, holding them up. The young man smiled.

"Those, um, what did you call them? 'Walkie-talkies'? Those are going to be loads better than signal drums and smoke signs." He nodded vigorously.

"Smoke signs?" Penelope asked, bemused.

"We use the smoke from fire to send messages across long distances, since they can't hear us if we shout."

She looked at him, her eyebrows pushed together. "Huh," she murmured. "That's…a pretty good idea." She placed the walkie-talkies in her duffel bag carefully. "We should tuck in for the night – but first, help me move some of this furniture to block the entrance. I'm not interested in having someone get the jump on us."

They moved the cabinet against one door and stacked a few tables against the other one. When Penelope was sure that each doorway was secure, she stepped back and looked around.

"I think I found some blankets, earlier – and we can just use the couch to sleep on," she stated, flopping down on the off-white sofa. It sank comfortably under her body and she smiled.

Follows-Chalk rummaged around in the back and found some moth-eaten blankets, rubbed bare in a few places, but not terrible. She took one gratefully, curling up on the couch.

They were quiet for a moment, both staring at the ceiling until Follows-Chalk broke the silence.

"What's civilization like?"

Penelope turned her head to see him still staring up at the ceiling, a strange expression on his face. Longing?

"It's…not very civilized," she confessed. "Life in the Mojave is brutal. More brutal than just the White Legs." She shifted uncomfortably. "Between the assholes who want to kill you just for shits and giggles, and those that will try to kill you and take the chance of dying for a small chance of a meal, it's not exactly a friendly place."

She paused. "At least here, you don't have to worry about radiation. Or deathclaws, or NCR, or Legion, or anybody else." There was silence for a moment as Penelope chewed her lip. "But…tribal life isn't perfect either," she said finally, "and I think everyone should have a chance to see the world. The world outside of Zion is harsh, to put it lightly – while you may be able to trust people here, in the Mojave, sometimes you can't even trust your own friends."

Follows-Chalk looked at her, a mixed expression on his face. Penelope sighed.

"I'm really bad at this. Basically, civilization is what you make it – but it's easy to get discouraged. Here, life is much simpler. I prefer it."

He nodded. "I see what you're saying. Civilized life is difficult, neh?"

"Yeah."

Silence filled the lodge once more, the moonlight slowly moving across the room. Penelope turned over onto her side, her shoulder pulsing painfully. She heard heavy breathing and sat up; Follows-Chalk was fast asleep.

Placing her bare feet on the wooden floor, Penelope tiptoed over to where her duffel bag was leaning against the cabinet. She removed a couple of vials of Med-X, counting the remaining syringes. Only four left. She bit her lip before applying the Med-X to a vein on the inside of her arm. Letting out a hiss of relief, she slumped against the cabinet and removed the second vial, flicking it into the duffel bag.

The cabinet door opened and her hand retrieved the tequila. Opening the bottle, she grimaced at the smell before taking a deep drink. She choked, nearly splattering tequila all over the lodge, before gaining control of her throat and swallowing hard. Wiping her mouth, she took another drink, her face twisting in disgust.

She stared off into space, trying to clear her mind of the image of bright blue eyes and bandages. Why did he make her feel like a creature under a microscope? She drew her knees up to her chest, feeling exposed. The tequila was already starting to hit her, creating a small fire in her belly.

The fact that she would be taking the tools to Daniel after she found them gave her a feeling of deep relief. She didn't want to admit that it was because something about being around Joshua excited her – he was old enough to be her father, dammit. But those blue eyes…

She groaned and stood, wavering on her feet. Gripping the tequila bottle still, she stumbled over to the sofa and sank down on it, careful not to spill. Taking another swig, she leaned her head against the couch's arm and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to plan for tomorrow. But those blue eyes stayed there behind her eyelids.

_Shit_.


	9. Chapter 9

_Matthew 26:52_

_…"For all who take the sword will perish by the sword."_

* * *

><p>Daniel placed the back of his hand on the forehead of the groaning Sorrows man lying on the bedroll beside him. His fever was stabilizing, it seemed like. The Sorrows said it was a spirit inhabiting him, but Daniel knew it was worse: an infection.<p>

He tried to clean out the knife wound but knew it would probably be in vain. With a sigh, he sat back on his heels.

A shout caused him to look up, pushing back his hat and squinting. Waking Cloud waved to him from the river, her hurried feet making small splashes. Behind her, two figures sloshed through the water, one of them hidden by a broad brimmed straw hat though the other was recognizable: Follows-Chalk, Graham's errand boy from the Dead Horses.

He wiped his hands on a clean cloth and stood, walking over to where the two were approaching. At this distance, he could easily see the stranger's female form beneath her stained white tank top and rolled up khakis. On her head, a straw hat hid corn-yellow hair. A pistol with an etched barrel and pearl grip was slung at her hip, a sniper rifle strapped on her back. Graham had told him that a stranger from the Wasteland would be coming with supplies for an evacuation from Zion.

She looked up, her freckles crinkling as she gave him a tired smile. "You must be Daniel," she greeted.

"I am indeed. And you are?"

"My name's Penelope." She dipped her head towards him. "Nice to meet you."

"You as well, though I wish it were under different circumstances." He crossed his arms. "The Dead Horses told me the details about the attack on your caravan. A stranger's sympathy might not count for much, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He gestured to the tribals milling about the camp. "The Sorrows will mourn your friends, too. They mourn everyone, even the White Legs. They have sensitive souls. Innocent, if there is such a thing."

"Everyone has innocence in them. It's keeping ahold of that innocence that's hard to do," Penelope replied mildly.

Daniel nodded, but before he could say much more to the stranger, the Dead Horse man beside her touched her shoulder. She jumped, before turning to look at him.

"Here we part ways. I'm needed back at the Dead Horses camp – maybe I'll see you there sometime."

Penelope smiled, and they gripped forearms. "Thank you for your help, Follows-Chalk." She paused. "Goot gonen, ahk is," she said slowly, forming each syllable carefully.

The Dead Horse's face lit up. "Goot gonen," he replied and, with that, was sloshing back through the water.

Penelope turned back to Daniel and studied the man. He was dark haired, with his beard trimmed and blue eyes that weren't quite as brilliant as Joshua's. She shook that thought out of her head.

"Joshua told me you needed a few things." She placed her pack on the ground, taking out the walkie-talkies, several lunchboxes, and a medical kit. "I think this is everything," she said after a moment, trying to control an involuntary spasm that shot through her body.

"Well, I'll be," Daniel said admiringly, giving Penelope a warm smile. "I was starting to lose hope we'd be able to get any of this, much less all of it. Tribals are smart but... well, they're ignorant." He shrugged. "Letting go of a taboo is difficult for them, so I knew it would have to be one of us. Turns out, all it took was a Gentile. Or, uh... no offense." He flushed a little bit, and Penelope chuckled weakly.

"No offense taken."

"These supplies are a godsend, but…" He hesitated, and Penelope suppressed a groan, anticipating the coming request. "If we're going to evacuate Zion without drawing more White Leg attention, I need you to go back into the valley."

Penelope gave Daniel a weary smile. "Yeah. Sure."

Daniel beamed. "Specifically, I need you to scout out some locations for White Legs and try to recover a map of Grand Staircase, a wilderness area to the east. There's also the matter of the roads. We're going to be heading out of the east side of the park, but I'm not sure the way is clear."

Penelope nodded. "Anything I can do to help – but, if you don't mind, I would like to take a night to rest before I get to work on all of that."

Daniel nodded, a look of understanding passing across his face. "I forgot that Joshua told me about your…injury." He paused. "If you don't mind, I could look at the wound for you?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful. I'm afraid that the pain hasn't quite gone away," she confessed, a strained look pulling at her features.

"I imagine it's poison residue still in your bloodstream. The dark datura the White Legs use is some nasty stuff," he remarked, gesturing for her to come sit on a bedroll beneath a lean-to. She obliged, rolling down one strap of her tank top to display the stitching.

Daniel examined it closely. "If you have Med-X, the poison won't incapacitate you. But you need to be careful of how much Med-X you take, else you'll form an addiction."

Penelope nodded nervously. He pulled away and replaced her tank top strap over her shoulder. "Waking Cloud, the Sorrows woman who escorted you in to camp, will help you with your tasks tomorrow and show you around the camp tonight." Daniel looked away, an unreadable expression passing over her face. "In the meantime, I believe we have a visitor."

Penelope looked up and blanched to see Joshua slogging though the water towards them. He raised a hand in greeting, the bandages crinkling around his mouth in what could be surmised as a smile.

"Good to see you, Joshua," Daniel greeted, standing.

"You as well, Daniel," the Burned Man replied, stepping onto the shore and gently shaking a leg to drain the excess water. "Penelope. How's the wound?"

"Still healing. Hurts a bit."

"I imagine you forgot to use the antivenom in treating her, hm?" Daniel remarked. Joshua raised an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid we were out at the time. I had to do the best we could with what the Dead Horses had."

"Of course." He nodded at Penelope before turning back to Joshua. "We will talk later."

Joshua watched as he walked away to tend to a wounded Sorrow before settling beside Penelope. They didn't say anything for a moment before he started to speak, startling her.

"'By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion'," he said softly, his voice on edge. "'Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom in the day of Jerusalem who said, 'Raze it, raze it, even to the foundation.' O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed. Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.'" He paused before continuing once more.

"'Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.'"

Penelope didn't dare breathe, staring out over the river as he turned his head to look at her, his eyes hardened into chips of ice. "Do you know what it means?"

She was silent for a moment before lifting her head. "You don't…want to leave Zion. You'd rather…kill every last White Leg," she said haltingly.

He nodded. "Given those two choices…yes. In the best of all possible worlds, they would just leave us in peace." He sighed. "But they won't. I don't enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it's just a chore, like any other. Practiced hands make for short work. And the good Lord knows there's much to be done here."

Penelope shuddered. "Sometimes, Joshua, you scare me," she confessed. A flicker passed through his eyes, and he looked away. She bit her lip. "What was that about happy…dashing the little ones?"

"Happy are those who do the work of the Lord. Zion belongs to God and the people of God. It is a natural temple and monument to his glory. When our Lord entered the temple and found it polluted by money-changers and beasts, did he _ask_ them to leave? Did he cry? Did he simply walk away?" Joshua's eyes hardened once more, far away in his own thoughts. "No. He _drove_ them out. It is one thing to forgive a slap across my cheek, but an insult to the Lord requires..." here he stopped and corrected himself, "no, it _demands_ correction." His fist hitting his open palm punctuated the last phrase.

"Why," Penelope said softly, "are you talking to me about it?"

Joshua paused, his anger evaporating with the quiet question. "Daniel and I…don't agree on everything, but in our hearts, we both want what's best for the Sorrows and Dead Horses." He looked at his bandaged hands, resting on his knees with palms upturned. "You've seen what the White Legs do, and I think you know what has to be done. If Daniel hears it from someone other than me, well..." His palms curled into fists. "Zion may not be lost to us after all."

A light summer breeze blew through the canyon and Penelope sighed, curling up even tighter. "You're asking a lot of me, Joshua. I'm just an outsider, not a part of the New Canaanites or the Dead Horses or Sorrows." Her brows were drawn tightly together as she watched a small beetle crawl across the valley floor. "You're telling me to pick a side and rig the game in one direction or the other, and affect the lives of these tribes." She hesitated. "I…I need to think about it."

Joshua paused and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Of course. Think on it, and look in your heart. The light of the mind alone cannot dispel the whole world's darkness."

Penelope didn't watch as he stood, walking away from her. Part of her wanted to chase him down, tell him that she would follow him wherever he led, but she had to think. Clear her mind. An impossible task, with him always so close.

She sighed and rested her head on her knees, staring out over the river.


	10. Chapter 10

_Colossians 3:5_

_Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry._

* * *

><p>Joshua sighed in relief as White-Bird, the Sorrows' shaman, wound the last of the bandages over his face, blocking out the last stings of the fresh air on his wounds. His own breath warmed the gauze over his nose and mouth. His burns had slowly become less painful, since Penelope had given him the ointment treatment, so that he could almost – <em>almost<em> – bear removing his bandages when the time came. Simply applying the paste cooled his skin, and he could already see where the angry red rashes were fading away to pink and white.

"_Finished_," White-Bird stated in the Sorrows' language, leaning back on his heels.

The Burning Man rolled his shoulders, stretching beneath the bandages. "_Thank you, White-Bird_." He paused. "_Let me know if you need anything at all_."

"_No need, na'ne_," the shaman dismissed, standing. "_It was my pleasure_." He paused before turning to leave. "_Peace be with you_."

Joshua's shoulders sagged as White-Bird left the cave and he sighed again, holding his chin in his hand. His mind had been a jumble of thoughts for almost a week straight now and he couldn't discover the cause. Or at least, that's what he told himself. The truth was that his thoughts weren't so tumultuous until a certain freckled courier had arrived in Angel Cave.

There was a sudden commotion outside of the cave and he straightened, standing. He walked to the entrance of the cave, watching as a crowd of Sorrows and Dead Horses rushed to the riverside. He grabbed one by the arm, looking at them questioningly.

"_What's going on_?" he asked sharply.

"_Waking Cloud was seen carrying the owslander,_" the Dead Horse stalker replied, her eyes sliding towards the river.

Joshua sucked in a sharp breath. "_Is she hurt_?" he said, his voice urgent. The Dead Horse shrugged and Joshua released her, turning to watch the riverside.

Waking Cloud struggled to carry the shaking outsider, her feet making heavy splashes as she walked. Daniel ran out to meet her, examining Penelope's thin form in her arms.

Joshua hurried to them, his eyebrows pulled together in worry. "_What happened_?" he snapped at Waking Cloud. Daniel raised an eyebrow at him as Joshua took the courier from the Sorrows woman.

"_We had just collapsed the cave with the yao guai, and she just started shaking and…collapsed_," she explained explained, looking a little panicked.

Daniel suddenly reached over and pulled up one of Penelope's eyelids, examining the eye. "Contracted pupils," he muttered. "She's going through a Med-X withdrawal."

"An addiction?" Joshua said in surprise.

"I warned her about it when she talked about how much pain she was in. I think I didn't realize quite how much Med-X she had been taking," the New Canaanite explained. He sighed. "This will put us back on evacuating Zion until we can get her fixed."

"Forget the evacuation. She is far more important than that right now," Joshua heard himself say, clutching the shaking body in his arms. A little moan suddenly escaped her, one hand reaching up to clutch his vest with weak fingers.

"J-Joshua?"

He looked down at the courier. Sweat beaded her forehead and made her tank top cling to her body. He turned and walked towards the cave, still holding her.

"I'm here."

Her eyes opened blearily, bloodshot and contracted. "G-good." She suddenly paused, her face blanching heavily. "I'm g-going to p-puke."

She turned her head away from him and threw up, the vomit dribbling across his arm and over her cheek. He laid her down on his bedroll, wiping her pale face with a bandaged hand.

Daniel, followed be Waking Cloud, was right behind him, holding a plastic bag filled with some kind of substance. Inserting a connected needle into the crook of Penelope's arm, he hung the bag on a rock and gave it a small squeeze.

"We need to make sure she's getting enough food and water. Especially water. Hopefully this IV will make sure she's getting enough fluids, and we can put some chems in there to ease a bit of the suffering." He hesitated. "I'm sure she didn't mean to use Med-X in such a way…"

"Daniel," Joshua said sharply, not taking his eyes away from Penelope's strained face. The other man looked at him in some irritation. "Leave her be. She will not come to any harm now."

Daniel opened his mouth to say something before shutting it again and giving Joshua a small nod. He turned on his heel and walked out of the cave. Waking Cloud watched him leave before turning back to Joshua, concern on her face.

"_Is she going to be all right_?" she asked, worry creasing her eyebrows. Joshua looked up at the Sorrows woman.

"_It will be hard for her, but she will be fine. Eventually_." He pushed damp tendrils of hair away from Penelope's face as she shivered. "_It will just take some time_."

Waking Cloud hesitated before kneeling beside the Burning Man. "_She is remarkable, for a Tsagasee_." She lifted a bowl of water to the courier's mouth, letting it run over her chin. "_She has honesty, and honor. Very important for a warrior_."

Joshua gave Waking Cloud a searching gaze. "_Thank you, Waking Cloud, for your help_," he said finally. "_I will watch her now_."

The Sorrows woman dipped her head in acknowledgement before standing and walking away. He lifted his blanket and covered her with it gently, watching as her shivers slowed to almost a stop.

Her eyes opened again. In a haze of pain and sweat, she looked at him with dulled green eyes that she could barely hold open.

"D-don't leave m-me," she begged hoarsely. "P-please."

He looked at her with a mixed expression before laying his hand on her forehead and stroking it gently. Her muscles relaxed a little and a small sigh escaped her lips.

"I won't," he murmured.

. . .

She lifted the carved wooden spoon to her mouth with a slightly shaking hand, gulping down the gecko stew with some difficulty.

"Th-thank you," she murmured, placing the spoon in the empty bowl with a small clatter as she shook a little. Joshua nodded, sitting beside her as he cleaned his pistol.

"You should be more careful of the chems you take, but I can understand trying to cure the pain," he remarked, wiping down the barrel with a swatch of cloth.

Penelope's face burned brightly. "I know," she mumbled, looking down at the bowl. Her fingers curled around the spoon tightly as her face contorted in anger. "I should h-have known better – I've seen it happen too many times to count." Her eyes suddenly softened into shame and she sighed, touching her forehead. "How c-could I be so stupid?"

Joshua paused in cleaning the pistol, putting it down to look at Penelope. "It doesn't matter," he said finally. "You're better now, that's what does matter."

Penelope gripped the blanket lying in her lap and sighed, her shoulders sagging. She shook her head and looked up at Joshua. "How are your b-burns?"

"They are far better," he replied, "all in thanks to you, Penelope." His eyes searched her face for a moment before he began speaking. "I rather hate how I keep finding you always half unconscious."

"B-believe me, it's not how I want for you to see me. I'm no damsel in d-distress. Or," she said a little blackly, "at least I th-thought I wasn't."

"Believe me, I can see that you don't need my assistance," the Burned Man remarked. His gauze wrappings creased as he smiled at her. "All the same, it's…nice to feel useful." He leaned over and touched her chin, lifting it to look at her. She stiffened for a moment, her eyes round as he looked down at her. "I would appreciate it if you were a bit more careful here in Zion. It may not have the same dangers as the Mojave, but in some ways it is even more dangerous."

She looked up at him, her heart fluttering. "I…I will."

He removed his hand and nodded. "Good."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the gauze where she expected his mouth to be. There was a brief sensation of the thick material, coarsely woven, brushing against her lips before Joshua jerked away, his blue eyes wide and startlingly bright, like sunshine on ice, as he looked down at her. Penelope covered her mouth with her fingers, her cheeks aflame.

"I'm sorry," she managed to gasp out. Joshua didn't say anything, only rising to his feet quickly and exiting the room with long strides. She watched him until he was gone from her gaze, leaving only the echo of his footsteps against the packed dirt.

As soon as he was outside the cave and out of Penelope's view, he stopped and leaned against the canyon wall. He raised a hand and touched his trembling fingers to his mouth. The feeling of her lips managed to burn through the gauze and he groaned.

This couldn't happen.


	11. Chapter 11

_Genesis 27:3_

_Now then, get your equipment-your quiver and bow-and go out to the open country to hunt some wild game for me._

* * *

><p>"So... <em>tsagasee<em> means 'outsider'?" Penelope clarified, digging her toes deeper into the mud of the river. Around them, the summer sun beat down on the red dirt, baking it. The distant shuffle of feet and the lap of the water against the river edge created a low cadence. It had been six days since Penelope's attempted kiss – and she was still wrestling with the embarrassment. As far as her withdrawal was going, all that was afflicted her now was infrequent mood swings and disturbed sleeping patterns.

"Yes." Waking Cloud stretched out beside her, brushing the yao guai fist's fur to clean it. Penelope scratched the back of her head and sighed.

"So what's 'friend'?"

"_Na'ne_."

"_Na'ne_," Penelope repeated carefully, scooping up some of the mud and shaping it into a lumpy ball. She cocked her arm back and threw it; it landed with a heavy splash into the river. "And how do you say 'hello'?"

"_Holadu_." Waking Cloud finished combing the fist and began to strap it securely back on her arm. The sound of footsteps caused both of the young women to look up from their seat by the river.

Two Sorrows hunters stood over them, throwing spears in their hands. One of them, a thin, muscular man with dark brown eyes like muddy pools of water, started to speak rapidly in their language. After a moment of this, Waking Cloud nodded and fired back.

"What's going on?" Penelope asked as the Sorrows woman stood.

"There is a hunting party going out to search for Bighorners," Waking Cloud explained. Penelope paused, glancing at the two Sorrows hunters.

"Can I come along?" she finally asked, a little shyly.

Waking Cloud hesitated. "I am not sure… Joshua would not like it…"

The courier sighed loudly and gave the older woman a look of annoyance. "I'm tired of sitting around this camp like an invalid. I can help." She pressed her lips together. "Please?"

Waking Cloud paused before saying something to the man with the dark brown eyes. He glanced at Penelope, his eyebrows drawn together, before answering Waking Cloud.

The older woman looked back at Penelope. "He said it is fine. But you will need to prepare for the hunt in the Sorrows way." She touched her chest. "I will show you how."

Penelope nodded, standing. "Well then, lead the way."

. . .

The group crouched at the top of the low cliff, watching the ground below. Penelope breathed in deeply, almost choking on the dust that flew up her nose. Waking Cloud had given her the skimpy, midriff-baring clothing that belonged to another Sorrows woman before dunking her in the river and asking that she roll in a pile of dirt. Otherwise, Waking Cloud ascertained, the Bighorners would smell her. Once that was done, sticky mud had been applied to her face to match the markings of the other hunters. Since then, the dirt and mud had dried, cracking across her skin and sending dust up her nostrils. She had been allowed to keep her straw hat, her hair swept up into it.

She tightened her hold on her spear, trying not to fidget. Killing Hawk, the man with the dark brown eyes and, as she later found out, the head hunter of the Sorrows tribe, sat beside her, hardly making a sound. Turning her head to look over at Waking Cloud, she leaned towards her.

"So let me get this straight," she whispered to the Sorrows woman. "Flying Gecko is supposed to lead the Bighorner herd into this canyon – dressed as a Bighorner?"

Waking Cloud nodded, eyes trained on the ground below. Penelope blinked before sighing. No one else seemed to think this was a ridiculous idea. And yet...it had apparently worked for years. Go figure.

There was a distant roll of thunder, and Penelope looked up, puzzled. The sky was cloudless, clear and blue. Beside her, the hunters suddenly stiffened, each of them readjusting their hold on their throwing spears. Killing Hawk gave a hushed order and the group stopped moving, their eyes zeroed in on the entrance of the canyon. Penelope turned her head, craning her neck to see.

The sound of thunder suddenly grew louder, and a small figure in the pale red of Bighorner fur zipped past the boulders and plants that littered the canyon floor. A pair of curled horns, too big for the figure, bounced on its shoulders. Behind him, a red wave of fur and snorting followed.

Killing Hawk let out a whoop and vaulted over the edge of the cliff to skitter down the edge. The hunters followed him closely, Penelope last in line. She looked up to see Flying Gecko, bedecked in a Bighorner hide and horns, trying to scale up the canyon wall as quickly as possible to escape the stampede.

The disguised hunter reached for a handhold and missed, slipping to fall about seven feet and land on his chest. He wheezed, his arms and legs moving sluggishly. A few meters away, a Bighorner bull eyed him and stomped aggressively.

Penelope glanced back at the hunting group, hesitating. Killing Hawk looked over his shoulder and barked at her, gesturing for her to follow. She looked at him, back at Flying Gecko, still stranded and blind to the angry Bighorner approaching, and turned on her heel, sprinting towards the angry Bighorner. Killing Hawk shouted angrily at her.

The Bighorner grunted, bucking a bit as Penelope slid in between the bull and Flying Gecko, lying prostrate on the ground and groaning. She made a harsh noise, stabbing her spear toward his head, and the yellow eyes of the bull narrowed, snorting angrily. He pawed at the ground, tossing his horns angrily.

Penelope stepped aside, pulling the Bighorner's attention away from Flying Gecko. She stabbed underneath the bull's front leg, the spear piercing the flesh of the joint. The Bighorner bellowed and butted Penelope in the chest, sending her backward against the canyon. She hit the wall hard and gasped, holding herself up. The Bighorner bucked angrily, the spear still stuck under his leg.

Shaking her head dazedly, Penelope zeroed in on the spear in the huge animal's torso and lunged forward. Her hands curled around the spear's shaft and she tucked in, rolling around the spear and partway under the bull. It bucked again and snorted.

She thrust the spear upward, between two ribs, and the Bighorner bellowed in agony, the bellow fading into a raspy gurgle. Slowly, the bull stumbled before falling to its knees and finally down, its flank heaving once or twice before it stopped moving. Penelope panted, wiping sweat from her brow. She wrenched the spear out of the bull and turned back to Flying Gecko, who was still lying on his chest, wincing as his hand touched his side.

Gingerly, she moved his hand away and touched his side. With a few prods that drew sharp cries of pain, she withdrew her hand and sighed.

Waking Cloud was at her side. "What is wrong?" she asked, crouching.

"Flying Gecko was climbing the side of the cliff to get away from the stampede and fell. Some of his ribs on his left side and one on his right are at least fractured, maybe broken. I think his sternum may be cracked as well."

A shadow blocked out the sun from Penelope's peripheral and she blinked, looking up. Killing Hawk glared down at her, seething. He barked at her, his words meshing together to fall on Penelope's confused ears. Waking Cloud snapped back angrily.

"What's...what's going on?" Penelope asked during a lull in the argument.

"Killing Hawk was angry you had not followed the party – I am explaining to him what happened."

Penelope grunted. "Well, if he's going to complain, he can at least accept that Bighorner bull I killed over there as an apology," she remarked archly, jerking her head to the carcass.

Waking Cloud arched an eyebrow before speaking to Killing Hawk. The Sorrows hunter turned his head and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the bull several meters away. He looked back at Penelope before muttering a short sentence and stalking over to the carcass to inspect it.

"So...?" Penelope prodded. The older woman gave the courier a smile.

"He thanks you. And as for myself – I will make sure that Daniel and the rest of the Sorrows know of your deeds this day. After all, it is not every hunt that a hunter protects one of our own and kills a Bighorner by themself." Waking Cloud's smile was wide.

Penelope turned a blazing scarlet. "I-it's not a big deal." She cleared her throat and turned back to Flying Gecko, stroking his forehead gingerly. The motion relaxed him, as she had suspected from first-hand experience. "Here, um, help me make something to carry him back with."

Waking Cloud nodded and the two of them set to work.

. . .

Penelope smiled tiredly as she gently set the makeshift stretcher down beside Daniel. He examined the half-asleep Flying Gecko before looking up at Penelope.

"You look like a mess," he remarked, eyeing her muddy, dust- and blood-covered body.

"Apparently this is what they do to prepare for hunts," she replied, hands on her hips.

"And was the hunt successful?"

Penelope smiled before pointing at the other hunters, struggling to hoist the large beast to the water's edge. Daniel raised his eyebrows.

"All hail the great hunter," he stated before looking down at the Sorrows man lying in front of him. "Now – what happened?"

Penelope opened her mouth to speak before her eyes drifted upwards and landed on the silhouette of a man covered in bandages. Her mouth shut immediately with a click of teeth. Daniel turned his head to see what she was staring at.

Joshua was frozen at the sight of her, barely covered by the Sorrows clothing and painted with mud and clotted blood. Her green eyes shone at him from under her hat, strangely bright in her mud covered face. He found his eyes caressing her almost naked form and thanked God for the bandages hiding the sudden rush of blood through his system. Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Penelope," he greeted.

She swallowed. "Joshua. Good to see you."

"You as well."

Silence.

Finally, Daniel sighed. "As much as I would love to sit in the quiet: what happened to Flying Gecko?" he asked, rolling his eyes toward Penelope. She jumped before scratching underneath her hat, praying that the mud hid her reddening features.

"He fell. Couple of fractured ribs, maybe a cracked sternum."

Daniel examined the Sorrows man thoroughly. "Waking Cloud told me that you saved his life, fending off that Bighorner bull by yourself." He chuckled. "I know I'm terrified of the angry ones when I'm armed with a pistol – and you just did it with a spear!"

Joshua's gauze suddenly quirked as his eyebrows shot up. He looked at Penelope in almost anger.

"Yeah, something like that," she mumbled. "Look, I need to go help Killing Hawk and the others with dressing the Bighorner. I trust you have this in good hands."

She stood and started to walk past Joshua, but was halted as his hand snagged her arm.

"Why would you put yourself in danger like that?" he snapped. "In your condition?"

Penelope suddenly felt her awkwardness replaced with anger. "And what condition is that? Being a woman?" She wrenched her arm away from his grasp. "I'll do what I damn well please. I didn't need you to rescue me in the Mojave, and I didn't need you against some goddamned Bighorner. So stop babying me, already."

She stalked off. Joshua folded his arms and grunted, his eyes following her as she hurried away.


	12. Chapter 12

_Ecclesiastes 3:8_

_A time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace._

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em>?"

Daniel stared at Penelope from his seat on a bedroll. A light smattering of rain pattered around them, each drop sending up a puff of red dust until the valley floor was completely damp. She stood under one of the lean-tos, her hand on one of the poles supporting the structure as she looked out at the Sorrows camp. The Sorrows rushed about, trying to protect some of their belongings from the rain.

Penelope turned her head and looked Daniel squarely in the face. "I said," she said slowly, "I think Joshua's right." She took a deep breath. "We should fight the White Legs."

He sighed, removing his hat and rubbing the back of his head. "No. Why?" he groaned, shaking his head. "Why? Haven't you seen enough of what's going on here to see that the Sorrows don't need to butcher the White Legs for a piece of land?" Penelope folded her arms, her expression hard.

His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his hat. "What Joshua wants is more than an attack. He wants a slaughter. And he needs more than you and the Dead Horses to do it." Daniel looked up at her, his mouth pressed into a firm line. "The Sorrows can't be pushed into this. You and Joshua don't have the right to force them into it. Please, consider what I'm saying." He searched her face before his eyes became steely. "But I've seen that look before, on Joshua. Nothing I say will budge you."

He pushed himself off of the ground and jammed his hat back on his head. "I can't believe this," he muttered. He turned to look back at Penelope, anger simmering just under the surface. Heavy raindrops darkened his shoulders. "You might as well try and explain yourself, though I'm sure it's all misguided."

Penelope clenched her fists. "_Damn_ your self righteousness, Daniel," she muttered angrily. "The White Legs come down from Salt Lake and you just want to give Zion to them! This isn't just the Sorrows home we're talking about – it's your home as well." She pointed a finger at him. "Who are you to take them away just because you think it's best?"

"Who are you to lead them into battle, _Gentile_? To corrupt them like this?" Daniel scoffed. "You're as much of an outsider to them as I am, if not more so."

"The Dead Horses will go to battle with the White Legs. The Sorrows have killed just as many. Corruption is a necessity. You think I signed up to kill people? It's how people survive in these times." Penelope gave him an icy look. "If you take them out of Zion, I guarantee you'll spend the rest of your life wondering if it was the right thing to do."

"That's...that doesn't matter," he snapped.

"I think it does. Can you live with the fact that you might have led them to an even worse place? That you destroyed their culture? The Sorrows are rooted in Zion, always have been."

"Mercy isn't for you, is it?" he growled. A roll of thunder punctuated his words. Penelope let her eyes search his face, pausing. After a moment, she spoke softly.

"Mercy is not a right and I give it out as I see fit. The White Legs are nothing but thugs and certainly don't deserve it." Penelope gripped the pole a little tighter, turning her head. "It doesn't matter. I will help lead the tribals against the White Legs. End of discussion."

Daniel muttered something under his breath and stalked away. When he was out of sight, Penelope sighed and collapsed onto the bedroll, burying her head between her knees. Another crash of thunder, louder this time, echoed across the valley.

"May I join you?"

She looked up at Joshua, standing in the rain, and sighed. "I don't see why not," she replied a little coldly. She didn't move as he sat beside her, uncomfortably close to the rain.

Warmth radiated from him as he sat beside her, leaning back on his hands. They watched the raindrops create ripples in the river, the thunder creating a low cadence in the distance.

"I'm sorry for...well, for being an _ass_, I suppose," Joshua stated. Penelope looked at him, a little startled, before laughing. He looked at her blankly. "What?"

"No, just...I never expected you to say that."

"That I'm sorry?"

"No. Ass." She chuckled again.

His eyes crinkled a little bit before he looked away. "Well, I try not to use words such as that lightly." Joshua shrugged and glanced back at her. "I also wanted to apologize for yelling at you. You're very capable – incredibly so – and I shouldn't have assumed you to be fragile." He hesitated. "And also for running away when...well, you know."

"Yeah. I...It wasn't my smartest idea." She refused to look at him, her eyes trained on the river.

"It's just that...I'm old enough to be your father, and..." He struggled to find the words before just giving out a long sigh. "I've never...I'm not...it's been a long while since a woman has expressed...I mean..." He shook his head. "Forget it."

They sat in silence for a while, the sky darkening as the clouds compounded. The rain fell a little heavier, creating a steady beat against the ground.

"Do you ever wonder if you're doing the right thing?" Penelope murmured. Joshua turned his head.

"I suppose you're speaking of the decision to evacuate or fight."

"Yes."

"Does this mean that you have made a decision?"

Penelope hesitated. "Yes."

"And...?"

"Joshua, please," she sighed, before looking at him, searching his eyes. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing."

There was a heavy pause as she buried her head in her hands. The beat of rain against the lean-to filled the silence.

"Penelope," Joshua said finally. She lowered her hands to look at the Burned Man. "You are a good person, and intelligent. You care for the Dead Horses and the Sorrows just as Daniel and I do." He hesitated before reaching out to touch her shoulder. "I'm sure whatever you chose is ultimately the right choice for them."

She nodded silently, her eyes darkened in thought.

"Now, perhaps you would like to get out from under this and into a nice dry cave away from the rain?" he offered and she nodded again, taking his proffered hand as he helped her up. They hurried through the rain into one of the caves, where Sorrows were gathered around a smoldering fire.

Penelope leaned her back against one of the walls of the cave and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Joshua greeted a few of the Sorrows, letting out low laughter at some of the things they said. She looked away quickly when he glanced at her from across the fire.

There was a tap on her shoulder and she looked up to see Waking Cloud.

"I saw Daniel," the Sorrows woman remarked. Penelope suppressed a groan, staring back into the fire.

"I suppose he told you about my decision."

Waking Cloud nodded before hesitating. "If it means anything, I think you made the right choice," she said. Penelope looked back up at her, startled. "The White Legs will always kill. This is the best way."

"Thank you, Waking Cloud."

"But tell me: did you choose this for Joshua?"

"W-what?" Penelope spluttered. Waking Cloud looked amused. "N-no! No! I..." She paused, her eyebrows drawing together. "I chose this in spite of Joshua," she said finally. "It's just the right thing to do."

Waking Cloud studied the young woman for a moment before nodding. "You have honor. Do not lose it in the days to come."

Penelope blinked, watching as the Sorrows woman walked away, leaving her to stare into the fireplace and wonder about the importance of questioning your decisions.


	13. Chapter 13

_Isaiah 59:2_

_But your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hidden His face from you so that He does not hear._

* * *

><p>Penelope gently wiped the soft cloth across the glass on her scope, examining for scratches on the surface. She glanced at the already cleaned Maria, unloaded and gently placed on the soft Bighorner fur of the bedroll. Checking the chamber and ascertaining that it was unloaded, she removed the bolt, laying the rifle across her legs. She wiped a rag over the gun, digging into the creases where canyon's red dust had accumulated.<p>

A brush, covered with a small swatch of fabric that was liberally coated with solvent, dipped into the barrel and poked out the other side. She removed the fabric and brought the brush back up through the barrel. The process was completed a couple of times until Penelope looked down the barrel to see that most of the solids that had accumulated had broken up. She pushed pristine fabrics down the barrel until they came out clean.

Examining the barrel, she found it satisfactory and pulled the bolt back. She slipped a bullet into the breech; it clinked against the metal. Letting the bolt slide back into place, she made sure that the safety was on and wiped down the gun one last time. Strapping it onto her back, she picked up Maria and slid a full magazine into the magazine well, slapping it into place. It clicked pleasingly and she pulled the slide back, letting it snap back and seat the round. It holstered with a smooth, practiced motion.

"You seem well acquainted with your guns," a voice stated.

Penelope didn't move except to look over her shoulder at Joshua. "They've saved my life more times than I can count," she said simply. He adjusted the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, looking out the mouth of the cave to the Sorrows camp.

She examined the magazines laid out in front of her, slipping each bullet in with the primer facing backwards. Once each magazine was full, she slid each of them into a specially crafted leather magazine pouch strapped about the waist. Finally, she stood, turning to look at Joshua.

"Are you always this prepared?" Joshua asked, his blue eyes studying her face.

"You forget, I'm not removed from this conflict," she said. "The White Legs slaughtered my friends. My choice may have been on the behalf of the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, but it also serves my own revenge." She hesitated. "To a degree."

Joshua nodded, looking back at the camp. "I hate to ask you this, but I need you to assist me in changing my bandages before we can leave."

Penelope's eyebrows came together. "Wasn't White Bird doing that for you?"

"He's busy preparing for the fight against the White Legs."

"What about Moon Rising?"

The bandages hiding Joshua's face twitched; his eyes glittered with badly concealed humor. "Not to speak poorly of Moon Rising's treatment, but her fingers are not very gentle on my skin."

Penelope hesitated, her lips pressed together before she began to unstrap her rifle, carefully propping it up against a wall of the cave. She drew her pistol from its holster as well, laying it beside the larger gun. Rolling up her sleeves, she looked at Joshua.

"Do you have the materials I need?"

He held out a duffel bag. She took it and unbuckled the strap holding the bag closed. With the alcohol inside, she sterilized her hands, feeling the vodka dry out the skin on her fingers and palms. She lifted the pre-made mixture of broc flower, xander root, and aloe, poured into an empty whiskey bottle. For a moment, she wondered who had drunk its contents, but quickly dismissed the thought as Joshua sat down on the Bighorner hide in front of her.

He carefully rolled his bandages as he removed them, placing the rolled strips beside him one by one. Eventually, his chest and face was bared, his muscles twitching with the light stinging across his healing skin.

"Has the treatment been working?" Penelope inquired, shaking the bottle to slide some of the green mixture into her palm.

"Yes. My skin...exposing my skin to the air doesn't hurt half as badly as it did two weeks ago." He reached out one hand, flexing his dark brown fingers and curling them into a lean, tight fist. "If it wouldn't frighten the people here, I may be able to walk around without the bandages in a few more weeks."

She scooped out a small amount of the paste with her fingertips and lightly spread it across his chest, letting the aloe cool his skin. "You don't frighten me," she replied lightly.

"You have also seen far more of the world than the Sorrows or the Dead Horses. I'm sure they don't know just how ugly it is." His thin lips tightened in a rueful smile. "In Zion, I may as well be the Devil incarnate."

Her fingers paused, resting on his collarbone. "Hardly." She smeared the remaining paste onto his shoulders with the flat of her hand, silent for a moment. When she began to speak, her voice was soft.

"'For with the heart one believes and is justified'," she quoted, her eyes flicking up to Joshua's. "'And with the mouth one confesses and is saved.'"

His eyes searched her face. "You have been reading the book I gave you."

She nodded, massaging the paste into his skin. He winced and she lightened her touch. "I have a few questions about it, but I think it will have to wait for later."

His hand suddenly reached out and grasped her wrist. She stopped moving, looking up at him from underneath her straw hat.

"Is something wrong? I'm not hurting you, am I?" she asked, concerned.

"No. Not in the way you think you have." He sighed and released her wrist. She sat back on her calves, looking at him quizzically.

"I have nothing to give you but for apologies for treating you the way I have."

Her face warmed. "We don't have to talk about this," Penelope said hastily, ducking her head. "It's alright."

"No," Joshua rumbled. "It's really not."

She didn't respond, and they sat in silence as Penelope continued. Her fingers made smooth trails across his brown and taut skin, trying to keep her expression neutral as her heart thumped wildly in her chest. He didn't move as her hands moved up his chest, across his shoulders, and, finally, up to the tender skin of his neck. She slowed her movements then, letting her fingers trickle across the red and white wounds gently.

"You don't have to be so careful," Joshua stated. She flicked her eyes up at him.

"I don't want to hurt you."

She lightly worked the mixture into his skin until it was only a clear sheen on the surface. More of the aloe concoction was slid onto his cheeks and forehead, one finger spreading it across his face like a mask. That, too, was massaged across his visage until it was absorbed by the taut surface.

She suddenly paused, sitting back on her heels and lowering her gaze so that the brim of her hat hid her slowly heating cheeks. "I'll need to work on your legs, now. I-if you're comfortable with that."

He nodded and stood up, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants. Penelope busied herself with fishing around the bottle for more of the broc flower blend until Joshua sat back down, his scarred legs bared beneath a pair of blue boxers. She started at his left knee, rubbing down over his calf, over his shin, and then over his foot. When she touched the sole of his foot, he twitched and stiffened. Penelope paused, looking up at him curiously from underneath her eyelashes. She resumed her task again and he twitched again, a muffled sound coming out from under his gauze.

She leaned back, a grin slowly spreading over her face. "Are you...ticklish?"

His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps."

She raised her hands in defense, the smile still widening her face. "It's not a bad thing – perhaps you would be more comfortable for you if you did your own application from here on?"

Joshua paused, his hairless brows drawing together. "No, I..." He seemed to struggle with the next words. "Your hands...feel good. On my scars. It's...pleasant." He paused again. "But I think I will take over doing my feet."

He leaned over and opened his hand towards her. She wiped some of the excess mixture into his hand, and sat back on her heels. The muscles along his spine tensed, standing out away from his lean body, as he bent over and rubbed his feet with the mixture. Finally, he leaned back and looked at Penelope.

"You may continue."

She poured a little more of the thin paste into her hands and worked her way up from his right ankle. Joshua sat patiently as her hands crossed his shin again, fingers curling around his legs and massaging gently. Penelope gave only a slight pause after her fingertips delved up his thigh to underneath the rim of his boxers. She took a subtle breath, controlling the tremble of her fingers against the top of his thigh, and then moving her fingers up to...

A hand touched her wrist gently. "I will handle it from here," his fire-hoarsened voice remarked and Penelope snatched her hands away, her cheeks on fire. Quickly, she wiped her hands on a clean cloth and stood up, turning away from him.

"I don't know if you have time to wash off," she remarked, trying to remain distracted, "if we want to ambush the White Legs as you plan to."

She started holstering Maria, securing her rifle and glancing at the mouth of the cave. Finally she glanced back at Joshua, her cheeks finally cooled. Joshua was shrugging on his bulletproof vest over his white shirt.

In the firelight, he looked so grim. Like an angry spirit, almost. It was strange, she thought, how vulnerable he looked to her without his bandages, when some might consider him the most fearsome looking; to Penelope, his bandages were the same as a wall between her and him. She looked away again.

"Let me know when you're ready to leave," she said, and walked out of the cave.


	14. Chapter 14

_James 2:13_

_For judgment will be without mercy toward one who doesn't show mercy; but mercy wins out over judgment._

* * *

><p>The White Leg gurgled as Penelope twisted the knife between his ribs, where his heart should be. He fell to his knees, and eventually flat onto his face. Breathing heavily with exertion, Penelope tugged the knife out of the corpse and picked up Maria from the ground, where it had been knocked out of her hand. She squinted in the low light of the cavern, lit only by a single lantern and the luminescent mushrooms always found scattered about the caves of Zion. Around her, three White Legs lay dead or dying, shot in the chest or bleeding out of slashed throats.<p>

She grunted, trying to wipe the blood off of the front of her leather armor and only succeeding in smearing it in a large streak across the chest plate. With a sigh, she sat down on the wooden crate that the lantern lay upon, the wood creaking under her weight. Penelope examined her lightly bleeding arm, grazed by a stray bullet from one of the tribals.

She pulled Maria out of its holster and, with a press of a button, removed the empty clip while sheathing her bowie knife in her belt simultaneously. Dropping the empty magazine into her magazine pouch and slapping a new one into the pistol, she pulled back the slide and let it snap back into place.

The sound echoed about the cavern and she sighed, holstering the pistol smoothly. She removed the straw hat for a moment to smooth back sweaty tendrils of hair off of her forehead before planting the hat back on her head.

"Shit," she mumbled.

She and Joshua had left for Three Marys almost three hours ago, sloshing through the river and their hands cautiously held on their pistols as they trekked to the White Legs' camp. They had barely spoken, except for when a small scouting party of White Legs had ambushed them, just east of Red Rapids docks, and that was to warn the other of the positions of incoming pain-makers and storm-drummers. Fortunately, while the White Legs were formidable in hand-to-hand combat, their firearm handling left a little something to be desired – at least from the few they had come across.

The split had come when they were halfway through the narrow slot canyon leading to the White Legs camp. Joshua had seen the White Legs atop the canyon cliffs first and, with a shout, shot two of them with ease. It wasn't enough, however. The strategically placed mines detonated, sending rubble and boulders crashing down in front of them. Joshua had yanked Penelope backwards by the collar of her armor, saving her from a potentially crushing death by a large red rock that splashed where she had been standing moments before.

She had tried to climb over the rubble, unsuccessfully. The wall of boulders was impenetrable. Finally, after ten minutes of trying to find a weakness in the impasse, Joshua gave out a groan of frustration. Penelope swiveled her head to look at him, their eyes locking.

"This is taking too long," he snapped. "We can't let Salt-Upon-Wounds escape." Penelope almost recoiled at the seething anger in his words. He turned his head, looking around the slot canyon. "I'm going to find a way around."

Joshua looked back at Penelope, suddenly captured by the way her eyes reflected the low moonlight off the water. The expression in his eyes suddenly changed. "God willing," he said, his tone hushed, "we will finish this together."

He grabbed her hand, pressed it to his gauze-covered mouth, and was gone.

She watched him leave, stunned and hot with his sudden, strangely tender gesture in such a strange time. After a moment, she shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and checked her Pip-Boy, examining alternate routes.

And thus, she ended up in this godforsaken cavern.

For not the first time that night, she felt a twinge of guilt. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the crate she sat upon, the lantern throwing shadows across her furrowed brow. Was she doing the right thing?

The White Legs were slaughtering the Sorrows and the Dead Horses in their own homes, yes, and had driven out the New Canaanites. But they were instructed by the Legion, pushing for new recruits and more power, especially following the death of Caesar and the loss of the Dam. They only hoped for stability, and power for their tribe. And yet this act was because of the Burned Man. Because of Joshua.

Penelope was beginning to suspect a lot of things were because of Joshua. He was not a simple face in the crowd; he could control the tide. And Penelope was beginning to realize that, as impartial as she wanted to be in making her decision to evacuate or to attack the White Legs head on, it would never be impartial as long as Joshua was around.

She groaned and leaned over to rest her head on her knees. No. Not again. This was humiliating, to pine over him, to think about him so much. Taking deep breaths through her nose, she sat back up and finally stood to continue her trek through the canyon.

It wasn't long until she saw the light of the moon on the trickling rivulet from the Virgin. Craning her neck out of the cave mouth, she heard the sound of gunshots and cries. Slowly, she followed the noise, hand on the gun at her hip.

After turning a corner, she simply stopped, her green eyes grave and dulled at the sight in front of her. Before her, lit by the flickering flames of campfires, a mass of tribals slashed and cut and shot at each other, each screaming curses upon each other as they killed or fell. Blood turned the already red dust a nauseating scarlet, muddy and sticky with gore. The smell of iron permeated the air unmercifully, filling her nostrils and seeping into her skin. A heavy ball of guilt suddenly settled in her stomach, making her feel sick.

Had she turned Zion into the Mojave? This oasis in the wasteland – had she infected it? She found herself staring into the eyes of a dead Sorrows man, his mouth open in an eternal scream of death, eyes glassy and blank as he stared into the stars above. Penelope followed his gaze. So many stars.

She took a deep breath and turned her sight back to the path that snaked through the canyon. She had to fix this, as much as she could. _Even if it is too late_. With that last thought, the color drained out of her face. _Joshua_.

Breaking out into a run, she shoved anybody out of her way, not caring if they were Dead Horse or Sorrow or White Leg. No one would stop her. Sharp stings of pain struck her arms as knives slashed at her, but she didn't see them: Joshua was already in view.

He stood over a tribal wearing a frightening mask. As Penelope sprinted closer, she noticed it was made out of a yao guai jaw and several other bones, the face of a skull crudely painted on the front of it in black and red paint. It had to be Salt-Upon-Wounds.

She stumbled and slowed her pace, jogging up to the two of them. Joshua's hand clenched around the grip of his .45; the muscles in his fingers bulged, his forefinger rubbing the trigger almost therapeutically. The closer she got, the easier it became to hear him speak, his voice strained and tensed with barely concealed anger.

"We warned you at Syracuse," he rumbled in his fire-hoarsened voice, "and you persisted. You took advantage of us at New Canaan –" here, Penelope could practically hear his jaw set in fury, "– to drive us out, and like the _dogs_ of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion." The pistol suddenly drove forward, pressing to the head of Salt-Upon-Wounds roughly. A whimper escaped from underneath the mask.

"And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God's glory on Earth." Joshua suddenly laughed, a chilling sound that shook Penelope to the bone. "But the only use for an animal in _our _temple is _sacrifice_!"

The mask suddenly moved, facing Penelope, and she realized that Salt-Upon-Wounds was looking at her. She moved forward, hoping that the brim of her hat hid the expression in her eyes.

The hand holding the pistol suddenly moved again, digging deeper into Salt-Upon-Wound's temple. "_Kale watcha nei conserva oh_!" Joshua barked. "You understand me, don't you? _Don't you_?" he practically screamed, his voice shaking in rage.

"Joshua?" Penelope said, trying to hide her uncertainty.

The bandaged man turned his head over his shoulder. "Penelope. You're just in time," he said, his voice suddenly cold and steely as his icy eyes.

A sound suddenly erupted from beneath the mask, muffled heavily. "Outland!"

Both Joshua and Penelope turned to look at Salt-Upon-Wounds, Penelope's brow furrowing. Salt-Upon-Wounds' shoulders sagged in relief.

"Kuna-man mad! He kill all White Legs! You talk! You stop!"

Penelope hesitated. Joshua looked at her, his eyes growing harder from between the strips of gauze covering his face. Salt-Upon-Wounds pressed further. "Him hear you!" he begged. "You talk!"

"Don't listen to this...this thing!" Joshua snarled. He pushed the pistol even deeper in Salt-Upon-Wounds' head and the tribal chief cried out in fear and pain. "His cries are those of a mad beast caught in a thicket. He gave no mercy to my family, and I will give none to his!"

His finger tightened around the trigger and Penelope suddenly put her hand out, touching his cheek softly. The sensation suddenly stopped the Burned Man, leaving him completely still and staring at the cowering Salt-Upon-Wounds.

"Joshua," she whispered, stepping a little closer to him. She tried to control her quickening breath as she raised her eyes to his, pushing gently against his cheek to make him look at her. "You've already won." She gestured around the camp. "Look around you. There's no need to kill him. There's no need for more bloodshed."

Joshua stared at the young woman in front of him, his eyes softening a fraction. "He has a debt to pay for what he's done and I've come to collect." The rage sudden started to grow in his words again. "And so he's chosen to cower in the water like a dumb animal."

"If what you've told me about your faith, if what you believe is true...he'll pay for it later. The Sorrows don't need to see you do this." Penelope's eyebrows drew together. "I don't need...don't want to see you do this."

The hand holding his pistol trembled slightly. "I want to take from them what they _took_ from me, from my family!" His voice suddenly died down, the last word echoing around the canyon. His head dropped forward, staring at nothing.

"Joshua, you aren't...you're not the Malpais Legate anymore." Penelope brought her other hand up to his other cheek, cradling his head in her hands. "You're a man of God. Joshua Graham. Not the Legion. And if you kill him out of vengeance, if you massacre them...you're just like the people you escaped from. The people who did this to you." He stiffened at the comparison and she stroked one cheek with her thumb soothingly. "You're better than this."

He raised his head to look straight into Penelope's soft eyes, his gaze sad. "I want them to pay for their crime in this life. I want them to suffer. I want all of them to die in fear and pain. I want to have my revenge. Against Caesar. I want to make it my own, to make my anger God's anger. To justify the things I've done."

"You have done that a hundred times over, with the New Canaanites, with the Dead Horses. With...with me." A lump suddenly formed in her throat. "You saved my life. You've paid for everything already with your actions."

His free hand touched and curled around her wrist, the gauze brushing the hairs on her bare skin. "Sometimes," he said softly, his grip on his pistol loosening as his arm fell, "I tell myself that these wild fires never stop burning. But _I'm_ the one who starts them. Not God. Not them." He paused, his fingers curling around her hand and removing it from his cheek but not letting go. He didn't look at her. "I can always see it in my mind. The warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me."

Joshua's eyes rose to meet hers. "But not today."

He released her hand and she removed herself, stepping back. Holstering his pistol, he turned a steely gaze onto Salt-Upon-Wounds, still cowering before him. "Go. Get out of here." He kicked out at the tribal chief, who quickly scrambled to his feet. "Go back. Back to the Great Salt lake."

The tribal scampered away, leaving Joshua and Penelope to watch him leave. Any remaining White Legs dropped everything and hurried after him, fear clear in their faces as they retreated. The battling Sorrows and Dead Horses let out a great cheer.

"There," Joshua said, his voice soft, barely audible over the victory cries of the tribals. Penelope turned her head to look at him. "That's it. It's finished. When they hear what happened here, the White Legs will crawl back to their Great Salt Lakes." He didn't remove his gaze from the canyon campsite. "If the Legion doesn't kill them, they'll wither and die like the cursed mongrels they are."

He suddenly turned and rested his forehead on Penelope's shoulder. She froze, blinking at him.

"Thank you," he murmured, "for letting me see my own shortcomings, where I was too blinded by anger to see for myself."

After a moment, Penelope suddenly raised her opposite hand and touched his head in a gentle motion.

"That is what friends are for," she whispered. She could see the gauze at his face move, and she suspected he had a sad smile beneath his bandages. He raised his head and straightened, his chin lifting.

"Come. Let's find Daniel. Tomorrow will be here soon, and there is still much work to be done."

He began to walk, and after a moment, Penelope followed behind, her heart strangely calm.


End file.
